THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


RAINBOW  VERSE 

A  Book  of  Helpful  Sunny 
Philosophy 


BY 

W.  DAYTON  WEGEFARTH 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved — Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


pi 

f  * 


Dedicated  to 
EDWARD  F.  ALBEE 


904076 


I  BELIEVE  in  the  philos 
ophy  of  friendship.  If 
my  verses  bring  sunshine  into 
the  lives  of  those  who  may 
feel  the  need  of  its  warmth 
and  point  the  road  that  leads 
to  success  to  those  who  are 
aimlessly  wandering,  I  am  cer 
tain  that  my  own  life  will  be 
sunnier  and  my  road  easier.  I 
want  my  verses  to  please,  but 
more  than  that,  I  want  them 
to  help. 

W.  D.  W. 


FRIEND  o'  MINE: 

I  should  like  to  send  you  a  sunbeam, 
or  the  twinkle  of  some  bright  star,  or  a 
tiny  piece  of  the  downy  fleece  that  clings 
to  a  cloud  afar.  I  should  like  to  send  you 
the  essence  of  a  myriad  sun-kissed  flowers, 
or  the  lilting  song,  as  it  floats  along,  of  a 
brook  through  fairy  bowers.  I  should  like 
to  send  you  the  dew-drops  that  glisten  at 
break  of  day,  and  then  at  night  the  eerie 
light  that  mantles  the  Milky  Way.  I 
should  like  to  send  you  the  power  that 
nothing  can  overthrow — the  power  to  smile 
and  laugh  the  while  a-journeying  through 
life  you  go.  But  these  are  mere  fanciful 
wishes;  I'll  send  you  a  Godspeed  instead, 
and  I  '11  clasp  your  hand — then  you'll  under 
stand  all  the  things  I  have  left  unsaid. 


BUM 

He's  a  little  dog,  with  a  stubby  tail,  and  a 

moth-eaten  coat  of  tan; 
His  legs  are  short,  of  the  wabbly  sort:    I 

doubt  if  they  ever  ran; 
He  howls  at  night,  while  in  broad  daylight 

he  sleeps  like  a  bloomin'  log, 
And  he  likes  the  feed  of  the  gutter  breed ; 

he's  a  most  irregular  dog. 

I  call  him  Bum,  and  in  total  sum  he's  all 

that  his  name  implies, 
For  he's  just  a  tramp  with  a  highway  stamp 

that  culture  cannot  disguise; 
And  his  friends,  I've  found,  in  the  streets 

abound,  be  they  urchins,  dogs  or  men : 
Yet  he  sticks  to  me  with  a  fiendish  glee — 

it's  truly  beyond  my  ken. 

I  talk  to  him  when  I'm  lonesome-like,  and 
I'm  sure  that  he  understands 

When  he  looks  at  me  attentively  and  gently 
licks  my  hands. 

Then  he  rubs  his  nose  on  my  tailored 
clothes,  but  I  never  say  aught  thereat, 


For  the  good  Lord  knows  I  can  buy  more 
clothes,  but  never  a  friend  like  that! 

So  my  good  old  pal,  my  irregular  dog,  my 

flea-bitten,  stub-tailed  friend, 
Has  become  a  part  of  my  very  heart,  to  be 

cherished  till  lifetime's  end. 
And  on  Judgment-day,  if  I  take  the  way 

that  leads  where  the  righteous  meet, 
If  my  dog  is  barred  by  the  heavenly  guard — 

we'll  both  of  us  brave  the  heat! 


THE  REASON 

Some  folks    '11  al'ays  git  along, 

An'  somehow  others  won't, — 
But  them  that  does  works  with   a  song, 

An'  them  that  doesn't,  don't. 


10 


BETSY 

She  isn't  a  car  with  a  pedigree,  and  she's 

old,  very  old,  indeed, 
Her  lines  are  low  and  her  speed  is  slow,  a 

sort  of  a  "has-been"  steed; 
I've  had  her  repainted,  renickeled,  too,  but 

she  still  looks  about  the  same, 
She   runs   at   times,   and   her  springs   are 

chimes,    and    Betsy's    her    Christian 

name. 

She  sputters  and  sulks,  she  kicks  and  bucks, 
and  she  has  a  consumptive  cough, 

She  often  backs  on  the  street-car  tracks  and 
the  cop  has  to  push  her  off; 

She  goes  like  the  wind  on  a  long  down 
grade  and  coasts  like  a  gull  at  sea: 

We're  Jack  and  Jill  and  we  love  our  hill, 
but  down  it  must  always  be. 

So  I  search  for  the  roads  that  are  smooth  and 
straight  and  I  skirt  all  the  hills  and 
dales, 

I  never  roam  very  far  from  home,  for  some 
how  my  courage  fails; 

11 


I  live  in  the  clouds  when  I  journey  forth, 
tho  the  clouds  are  another's  dust, 

But  I  grip  my  wheel  with  a  Spartan  zeal, 
and  say:  "In  the  Lord  I  trust!" 

And  often,  how  often,  they've  towed  me 
home  at  the  cost  of  a  five  or  ten, 

I'd  dream  of  the  day  of  the  one-horse  shay, 
and  wish  I'd  been  living  then; 

And  oh!  the  abuse  that  I've  had  to  bear, 
when  we'd  block  up  a  road  or  pass, 

They'd  howl  and  groan:  "Get  the  ether- 
cone!"  But  /  knew  she  wanted  gas. 

And  yet,  with  it  all,  she's  a  good  old  friend, 

tho  I  know  that  the  day  is  near, 
When  death  will  steal  into  each  slow  wheel 

and  into  the  running-gear; 
But  this  do  I  swear:  she  shall  rust  in  peace, 

with  no  eyes  but  mine  to  see; 
I've  suffered  much  from  her  friction-clutch, 

— but  she's  been  a  loyal  bus  to  me. 


12 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid?" 
"I'm  going  to  conquer  the  world,"  she  said. 
"I've  three  mighty  weapons  on  which  to 

rely: 
"My  smile,  my  diploma,  my  mischievous 

eye; 
"Now,  shouldn't  I  have  the  whole  world 

at  my  feet?  " 
The    world    answers:     "Yes,    for    they're 

wonderf'ly  neat." 

Diplomas  are  lost  or  forgotten,  you  know, 
As  time  presses  on,  but  a  smile — never  so! 
Nor  a  mischievous  eye — these  are  weapons, 

in  truth, 
That  will  conquer  all  hearts,  and  the  world 

too,  forsooth. 


THE  WAY  IT'S  DONE. 

"Mother,  may  I  get  in  the  swim?  " 

"Yes,  my  darling  daughter; 
Buy  your  clothes  from  a  Frenchy  store, 

And  don't  wear  half  y'  oughter. " 


13 


WHEN  LOVE  COMES  ALONG 

Isn't  it  funny  how  love  comes  along, 
With  the  plaint  of  the  wind,  or  the  lilt  of 

a  song, 
With  the  scent  of  the  flowers  that  bloom 

by  the  way, 
With  the  stars  of  the  night,  or  the  sun  of 

the  day? 
By  the  touch  of  its  breath  all  our  shadows 

are  gone: 
Isn't  it  funny  how  love  comes  along? 

It  comes  without  bidding,  we  know  not 

from  where, 
And  hope  takes  the  place  of   a  longing 

despair; 
It  comes  with  the  dawning,  it  comes  with 

the  night, 
But  come  when  it  will  there  is  joy  in  its 

light. 

Isn't  it  funny  how  love  comes  along? 
Though  our  clouds  may  be  dark,  it  will  bid 

them  begone; 
And  its  advent  is  marked  by  no  herald  or 

boast, 

14 


But  it  finds  us,  'twould  seem,  when  we  need 

it  the  most: 
Oh,  the  wonderful  peace  in  the  joy  of  its 

song! 
Isn't  it  funny  how  love  comes  along? 


LIFE'S  BOOMERANG 

Do  something  good  each  passing  day, 
For  those  whom  you  meet  on  Life's  High 
way; 

Cheer  on  the  traveller  at  your  side, 
Be  his  adviser,  comrade,  guide. 

Perhaps  there  will  come  a  time,  good  friend, 
As  over  the  path  of  life  you  wend, 
That  just  such  a  friend  as  you  have  been 
Will  give  you  encouragement  to  win. 


15 


TO  THE  CONVALESCENT 

It's  a  shame  to  be  ill  and  confined  to  your 

bed, 

To  be  medicine-filled,  hygienic'ly  fed; 
To  be  pampered  and  petted  from  morning 

to  night, 
Till  you're  ready  to  scream — for  you're  too 

weak  to  fight; 
To  be  told  what  a  wonderful  patient  you've 

been 
When  you  know  it's  a  fib.     I  repeat,  it's 

a  sin! 

But  we've  all  had  our  plasters,  we've  all 

had  our  pills; 
We've  all  had  our  troubles,  we've  all  had 

our  ills. 
They  make  up  a  lifetime,  old  friend,  sad 

to  tell; 
But  since  it's  the  truth — hustle  up  and  get 

well! 


16 


A  PRAYER 

No  day  so  quickly  passes 

That  I  don't  think  some  of  you, 
It  may  be  once,  or  often, 

But   each   thought   of   you    rings    true; 
And  oft  I  pray  in  silence, 

Asking  God  to  keep  you  free 
From  all  life's  ills  and  sorrows — 

And  to  let  you  think  of  me. 


ENCOURAGEMENT 

There's  a  heap  o'  satisfaction  in  the  clasp 

of  some  friend's  hand, 
There's  a  world  of  helpfulness  in  just  a 

word, 
But  you'll  find  that  absent-treatment  isn't 

vital, — understand  ? 

For  encouragement    must   both   be   felt 
and  heard. 


17 


THE  SUN-CRESTED  HILL 

Oh,  it's  great  to  be  able  to  go  where  you  will, 

Wherever  your  heart  decrees, 
To  sense  all  the  joy  of  the  wanderlust  thrill, 

To  go  when  and  where  you  please. 

For  the  world  is  so  small  and  our  days  are 
so  few, 

And  praise  such  a  shallow  thing, 
That  life  isn't  worth  all  the  crying  and  hue, 

The  sorrow  desire  may  bring. 

Strike  out  for  the  open,  the  unfettered  way, 
Strike  off  all  your  men-made  chains, 

And  search  for  the  peace  that  will  never 

decay, 
Forgetful  of  worldly  gain. 

For  the  pain  and  the  sorrow,  the  anguish 

we've  known, 

The  heart-breaks  and  tears  we've  shed, 
Are  fruits  of  the  seeds  we  have  greedily 

sown, 
The  toll  of  the  lives  we've  led. 


18 


So  go  on  your  way  with  a  laugh  and  a  song, 
And  sail  on  contentment's  sea; 

Live  just  for  today,  as  you  journey  along: 
Tomorrow  may  never  be. 

Oh,  it's  great  to  be  able  to  go  where  you  will, 

Wherever  your  heart  decrees; 
But  go,  while  you  can,  to  the  sun-crested 
hill, 

Where  happiness  warms  the  breeze. 


A  BIT  O'  HEAVEN 

A  little  bit  of  sunshine 

And  the  mellow  of  the  moon, 
Then  the  silver  dust  of  starshine, 

With  the  perfumed  breath  of  June, 
And  the  glisten  of  the  skyways 

Through  their  endless  lanes  of  blue: 
That's  my  wish  for  thee  and  thy  days, 

And  I'm  praying  'twill  come  true. 


19 


THE  U.  S.  MARINES 

You'll  find  Marines  where'er  you  go, 

In  ev'ry  old  place  on  earth, 
'Neath  torrid  sun,  in  fields  of  snow, 

Protecting  our  home  and  hearth. 

They  are  here  and  there,  they  are  ev'ry- 

where, 

This  glorious,  great  machine; 
They  tackle  the  jobs  that  depend  on  pluck, 
And  they  finish  'em  too,  with  their  usual 

luck, 
The  lads  o'  the  U.  S.  Marine. 

On  foreign  shore,  in  Yankeeland, 

Wherever  a  ship  has  sailed, 
They  do  their  bit,  and  lend  a  hand, 

When  some  other  chap  has  failed. 

Oh,  you'll  find  'em  all,  when  the  bugles 

call, 

The  first  on  the  battle-green, 
And  the  last  to  leave,  when  the  fight  is 

o'er, 
For  they'll  stick  and  they'll  beg  for  a  little 

more, 

The  lads  o'  the  U.  S.  Marine. 
20 


The  world  to  them  is  Home,  Sweet  Home, 

On  land  or  the  far-flung  sea, 
Their  roof  is  heaven's  star-lit  dome, 

The  breeze  is  their  symphony. 

And  they  fight  their  fight  with  a  heart  that's 

light, 

With  ever  a  jolly  mein, 
And  it's  woe  to  the  fools  who  would  bar 

their  way, 
For  there's  nothing  on  earth  that  can  stem 

their  sway, 
The  lads  o'  the  U.  S.  Marine. 

So  here's  that  Luck  may  keep  apace, 
Wherever  their  feet  may  tread, 

And  here's  that  Fortune's  smiling  grace 
May  follow  where'er  they're  led. 

For  it's  great  to  know  that  the  wondrous 

glow 

That  radiates  Freedom's  sheen, 
Will  be  ever  as  bright  as  their  hearts  are  true, 
For  they'll  fight  to  the  last  for  the  Red, 

White  and  Blue, 
The  lads  o'  the  U.  S.  Marine. 

Dedicated  to  the  United  States  Marine  Corps. 
21 


OLDEN  MELODIES 

It's  strange  that  the  songs  that  we  hear 

today, 

In  the  vaudeville  show  and  the  cabaret, 
Are  never  as  sweet  as  the  songs  of  old 
That  mother  had  sung  when  our  hair  was 

gold. 
There   were    "Sweet   Annie   Laurie"    and 

"Old  Black  Joe," 
"Love's  Old  Sweet  Song,"  "Sweet  Winds 

That  Blow," 
"Way  down  in  Dixie"   and  "Auld  Lang 

Syne," 
"The  Old  Folks  At  Home"  and  "Sweet 

Adeline." 

And  "Lead  Kindly  Light," — I  can  see  her 

now, 
With  her  silvered  hair  and  her  wrinkled 

brow, 

With  her  dear  old  hand  on  my  curly  head, 
As  she  tucked  me  so  gently  away  to  bed; 
I  can  feel  her  breath  and  her  loving  kiss, 
So  earnest  and  free  from  all  artifice: 
And  I've  learned,  ah,  yes,  I  have  learned 

since  then 

22 


Why  the  songs  of  youth  are  the  strength  of 
men. 

For  in  ev'ry  word,  in  each  lingering  tone, 
Rings   the   sound   of   an   old   sweet   voice 

we've  known, 

And  we  see  in  each  song  of  the  long  ago 
A  hallowed  face  in  the  firelight  glow, 
A  face  we  have  drawn  on  mem'ry's  page, 
And   framed    with    the    blooms   of   love's 

foliage : 

A  song  of  to-day  is  just — a  song, 
The  others, — mem'ries  of  loved  ones  gone. 


JUST  A  MINUTE,  PLEASE 

Before  you  send  your  letter,  read  it  over, 
And  hold  your  speech  until  your  wrath 

has  fled, 

For  'tis  better  far  to  wait, 
Tho  your  answer  may  be  late. 
Than  say  the  things  you  should   have 
left  unsaid. 


WORK  AND  PLAY 

Work  while  you  work,  with  all  your  heart, 

Work  with  a  right  good  will, 
Analyze  ev'ry  task  in  part, 

Sense  ev'ry  effort's  thrill. 

Play  while  you  play,  with  all  your  soul, 

Play  to  the  lilt  of  song, 
Play  as  you  work,  and  lo!  your  goal 

Will  come  to  be  real  ere  long. 


RAIN 

I  love  the  melody  of  rain, 
With  cooling,  whispered,  soft  refrain; 
For  while  it  falls  I  seem  to  see 
The  world  a  garden-plot;  and  we 
Are  flowers,  each  a  different  bloom, 
In  sun-kissed  patch  or  shadow-gloom; 
While  angels  stand  on  silvered  blue 
And  sprinkle  us  with  heaven's  dew: 
That's  why  I  love  the  song  of  rain, 
With  cooling,  whispered,  soft  refrain. 


24 


MY  STAR 

One  summer  night,  while  I  wandered  alone, 
Near  the  bank  of  a  gliding  stream, 

I  caught  a  star,  as  it  slid  to  the  earth 
On  the  shaft  of  a  late  sunbeam. 

With  tender  care  then  I  carried  it  off, 
O'er  my  life's  rocky  winding  road; 

And  marveled  much  at  its  wondrous  light, 
As  it  lifted  my  sorrow's  load. 

My  days  grew  brighter,  my  nights  were  less 
drear, 

All  the  world  seemed  enriched  by  love; 
The  trials  of  life  that  had  burdened  my  soul 

Were  all  lost  in  the  clouds  above. 

The  years  rolled  by,  and  I  lived  in  content, 
For  my  heart  greater  joy  ne'er  sought; 

The  star  that  brightened  my  life  was  naught 

else 
But  a  simple,  unselfish  thought. 


25 


LEARN  TO  SMILE  BY  THE  WAY 

A  man  with  a  frown  and  a  man  with  a  smile 
Once  met  on  Life's  Road  at  the  old  turning 

stile. 
"You  seem  unconcerned,"  said  the  first  with 

a  sneer, 
"For  a  man  who  has  treacherous  pitfalls 

to  fear. 

I've  worried  along  till  I'm  worn  and  grey." 
And   the   other  said,    "You   should   have 

smiled  by  the  way." 

"I've  had  many  troubles,  my  heart  has 

been  bled; 
The  joys  that  were  mine  are  now  withered 

and  dead. 
I'm  treading  this  path  not  from  fancy,  my 

friend, 
But  because  not  far  off  is  the  long-wished- 

for  end. 
I've  seen  aught  but  darkness,  no  dawning 

of  day." 
And   the  other  said,    "You   should   have 

smiled  by  the  way." 


26 


"I  know  what  it  means,"  said  the  man  with 

the  smile, 
"To  have   my  heart  wrung  every  cruel, 

weary  mile. 
My  life  has  meant  suffering,  my  way  has 

been  long, 
But  still  I  have  not  grown  deaf  to  Hope's 

song. 
And  every  drear   winter  to  me  has  been 

May, 
Because  I  have   learned  to  smile  by  the 

way." 


IF 

If  you  meet  the  world  with  a  heart  that's 
light, 

If  you  work  with  a  laugh  and  song, 
If  you  tread  the  path  where  the  sun  is  bright, 

You  will  win,  though  the  path  be  long. 


UNCLE 

I've  got  th'  finest  uncle 

That  anyone  ever  had, 
He's  jus'  's  nice  's  he  kin  be, 

Ain't  never  cross  like  dad. 

I  told  m'  mother  tother  day 

She  made  a  big  mistake 
In  marryin'  dad  instead  o'  him — 

Well — we  nearly  had  a  wake! 

Ma  grabbed  me  by  th'  collar, 
An'  laid  me  crost  her  knee, 

Took  her  slipper,  heel  an'  all, 
Then  how  she  walloped  me ! 

"T'  talk  about  yer  pa  like  that, 
Y'  most  on-grateful  child." 

With  ev'ry  word  th'  slipper  fell: 
Ma's  temper  isn't  mild. 

"I'll  teach  y'  t'  respect  yer  pa, 
Or  know  th'  reason  why." 

I  squirmed  an'  yelled,  "If  I  tell  link, 
He'll  punch  'im  in  th'  eye!" 

An'  then  who  comes  a-strollin'  in 
But  Uncle.     "  Well,"  says  he, 

28 


"I  hear  as  'ow  a  pal  o'  mine 
Is  needin'  help  from  me." 

An'  then,  o'  course,  ma  has  t'  stop 

A-lammin'  me,  an'  Unk 
He  lifts  me  up  an'  sees  me  smile, 

An'  says,  "Well,  you've  got  spunk!" 

He  asked  ma  what  I  went  an'  did, 
But  ma  jus'  squirmed  around; 

She  didn't  dare  t'  tell  th'  truth, 
For  gosh !  how  that  would  sound. 

So  Unk  an'  I  slipped  t'  th'  shed, 

An'  there  I  told  'im  all; 
He  scratched  his  head  an'  coughed  a  lot, 

An'  answered  with  a  drawl: 

"I  wouldn't  be  too  hard  on  pa 

If  I  were  you,  m'  lad, 
'Cause  family  scraps,  t'  say  th'  least, 

Are  werry,  werry  bad." 

"But  you  ain't  skeered  o'  dad,"  I  cried. 

"O'  course  I'm  not,"  said  he, 
4<  But  I  owe  dad  a  favor, 

Cause  he  did  one  once  for  me." 
29 


An'   then  he   laughed,   an'   laughed,    an1 
laughed, 

An'  hugged  me  for  a  spell; 
I  asked  'im  what  th'  favor  was, 

An'  promised  not  t'  tell. 

At  last  he  whispered  in  my  ear: 

"He  saved  my  life,  m'  lad. 
He  won  your  ma  instead  o'  me!" 

We  both  said:  "Poor— old— dad!" 

THE  YEAR  OF  YEARS 

Start  the  year  with  a  word  of  cheer, 

Start  the  year  with  a  smile; 
Laughter  chases  the  shadows  drear, 

Laughter  the  days  beguile. 

Tread  the  path  where  the  sun  is  high, 

Walk  where  the  flowers  grow; 
Place  your  hopes  in  a  star-lit  sky, 

Up  where  the  planets  glow. 

Search  for  joy  in  the  shadow-days, 

Smile  till  the  tear-mist  clears; 
Friend  o'mine,  in  a  million  ways, 

Make  it  the  year  of  years! 

30 


LIFE'S  ROOM 

I've  a  little  room  where  I  live  alone, 

And  the  walls  of  the  room  are  bare: 
A  peaceful  nook  of  a  sombre  tone, 

For  nobody  enters  there, 
Lest  it  be  the  Ghosts  of  my  Yesterday, 

Or  the  Dreams  of  my  days  unborn, 
Or  the  Shades  that  people  my  quiet  way 

Of  mem'ries  I  love  and  mourn. 

And  I  watch  the  world,  as  it  passes  by, 

Through  the  window  that  lights  my  soul : 
Its  ceaseless  tread,  like  a  mighty  sigh, 

Goes  up  to  the  heavens'  bowl; 
I  close  my  eyes  to  its  gilded  shrine 

And  shrink  from  its  drone  and  moan, 
And  I  thank  my  God  for  the  peace  that's 
mine, 

In  the  room  where  I  dwell  alone. 

HAPPINESS 

Happiness  is  yours  to  take, 
Happiness  is  yours  to  make, 
So  seek  it  ever,  keep  it,  too: 
'Twill  chase  away  life's  sombre  hue. 


31 


IT'S  A  GOOD  OLD  WORLD 

This  criticized  world  is  a  pretty  good  place, 
If  you  take  all  your  woes  with  the  right 

kind  of  grace, 
And  learn  to  find  good  in  your  sorrow  and 

pain, 
And  to  watch  for  the  sunshine  that  follows 

the  rain. 

I  know  that  the  world  has  a  mighty  blue 

tinge 
Oftentimes;  but,  my  friend,  if  you  just  oil 

the  hinge, 
Your  door  will  swing  open  and  let  La  the 

light 
That  will  put  all  your  little  blue  devils  to 

flight. 

In  all,  life  is  just  what  we  make  it,  you  know, 
And  we  reap  smiles  or  sighs  from  the  seeds 

that  we  sow; 
Then  the  right  thing  to  do  is  to  plant  seeds 

of  joy, 
And  to  smile  at  the  heart-breaks  that  try 

to  destroy. 


POSITIVE— NEGATIVE 

The  world  hasn't  time  for  the  gelatine- 
spined, 

For  the  timid,  the  weak,  or  the  negative 
kind; 

It  looks  to  the  man  with  the  positive  force, 

With  the  courage  that  comes  from  a  posi 
tive  source. 

So  think  then  and  act  in  a  positive  way, 
And  you'll  learn  that  the  things  that  had 

brought  you  dismay 

Will  leave,  as  all  negative  bugaboos  do, 
When  they  meet  with  the  strength  that  is 

latent  in  you. 

BABY 

Two  starry  eyes  look  into  mine, 

As  though  to  read  my  soul, 
Two  cupid  lips  part  with  a  smile 

That  makes  a  torn  life  whole; 
Two  chubby  hands  caress  my  cheek, 

Its  furrows  disappear, 
Two  little  arms  entwine  my  neck, 

And  Paradise  is  here. 


TH'  COIN'S  HARD 

Th'  goin's  hard  when  you're  down  an'  out, 

With  never  a  helpin'  hand 
T'  grasp  your  own,  as  you  grope  about, 

With  no  one  t'  understand; 
Th'  road  is  hard  an'  th'  road  is  long, 

You  hunger  for  just  th'  glow 
Of  a  friendly  face  or  a  cheery  song, — 

Th'  goin'  is  hard,  I  know. 

But  there's  somethin'  down  in  th'  depth 
o'  you, 

Somethin'  that  burns  an'  sears, 
Somethin'  that  sort  o'  helps  you  thru, 

Somethin'  that  stops  your  tears; 
It  points  th'  way  thru  th'  heavy  night, 

An'  it  whispers  in  accents  low: 
"You'll  win — you  must — if  your  heart  is 
light, 

But  th'  goin'  is  hard,  I  know." 

Then  you  set  your  jaw  an'  you  clench  your 

fist, 

An'  you  breathe  with  your  head  held 
high, 


34 


While  you  search  around  for  th'  chance 

you  missed, 

T'  give  it  another  try; 
An'   you   put   your   shoulder    against   th' 

wheel, 

Your  life  in  your  sluggin'  blow, 
An'  you  smash  your  way  with  a  will  o'  steel, 
Oh,  the  goin'  is  hard,  I  know. 

At  last  you  come  t'  th'  open  road, 

Th'  day  that  was  lost  is  won; 
Peace  deserved  is  your  heart's  abode, 

Its  light  is  th'  dawning  sun; 
You  won  your  fight  by  yourself  you  think. 

Poor  fool!     'Twill  be  ever  so. 
'Twas  God  who  turned  you  from  Failure's 
brink, 

When  th'  goin'  was  hard,  you  know. 

JUST  DAD 

That's  what  I  always  want  you  to  be, 
Without  any  frills,  just  Dad  to  me: 
A  sort  of  a  pal,  and  the  best  of  friends, 
Someone  to  point  where  the  roadway  wends; 
Someone  to  smile  when  my  heart  is  sad> 
The  kind  of  a  friend  I  need,  just  Dad. 


EVERYONE  DOES  IT 

I  used  to  live  in  a  great  big  house  of  seven 
teen  rooms,  or  more, 

With  gorgeous  frescoes  on  ev'ry  wall,  and 
an  obstinate  oak  front  door, 

With  halls  as  spacious  as  mountain  caves, 
and  alcoves  of  fearful  size, 

With  saintly  figures  on  ev'ry  pane,  and 
pictures  that  scandalize. 

The  tapestries  were  of  lustrous  sheen  and 

hung  in  a  wealth  around, 
The  rugs  and  carpets  were  soft  and  rich 

and  covered  a  hardwood  ground, 
The  furniture  was  of  massive  style,   the 

stairways  were  steep  and  long, 
The  house  was  truly  a  kingly  place,  but 

somehow  it  seemed  all  wrong. 

It  seemed  so  cold  and  it  seemed  so  drear, 

there  wasn't  the  warmth  of  home, 
I  felt  as  tho  I  were  swallowed  up,  I  hated 

its  ghostly  gloam, 
My   voice   would   echo    thru   ev'ry   room, 

like  spirits  of  other  days, 
I  feared  to  traverse  the  corridors,  bereft 

of  the  sunlight's  rays. 
36 


At  last  we  followed  the  social  bent,   we 

took  an  apartment,  yes 
We  left  the  house  with  the  yawning  porch, 

the  house  that  was  conscienceless; 
We  took  the  things  that  we  needed  most, 

the  things  that  would  fit,  you  know, 
The  bric-a-brac  and  the  spindle-chairs,  and 

pieces  to  make  a  "show." 

And  now  we've  learned  how  to  laugh  and 

live,  we  didn't  know  how  before, 
We've  learned  to  cook  in  a  kitchenette,  to 

smile  at  our  neighbor's  snore, 
We've  learned  that  life  is  a  stave  of  song, 

and  strange  as  it  all  may  seem, 
We've  learned  to  love  in  a  different  way, — 

and  to  steed  our  neighbor's  cream! 


THE  NICHE 

There's  a  place  for  you  in  the  world,  my  lad, 
There's  a  niche  you  are  destined  to  fill, 

But  you  must  be  brave  and  you  must  be 

glad, 
And  the  soil  of  your  life  you  must  till. 


37 


THE  NE'ER-DO-WELL 

Bill  was   the   clerk  in   the   general   store, 

merely  a  clerk  and  nothing  more, 
The  only  friends  that  he  had  in  town  were 

the  ne'er-do-wells  and  his  rabbit-houn', 
For  Bill  was  a  ne'er-do-well  himself,  with 

nary  a  thought  of  worldly  pelf, 
And  nobody  cared  if  he  lived  or  died — and 

perhaps  that's  the  reason  he  never  tried. 

The  villagers  used  to  vow  that  Bill  would 

some  day  burgle  the  grocery  till, 
And  they  wisely  ventured  the  solemn  hope 

that  he'd  pass  away  at  the  end  of  a  rope; 
They'd  lay  their  children  across  their  knee 

whenever  they  sought  his  company, 
So  the  town  oft  rang  with  their  youthful 

wails,  for  the  kids  loved  Bill  and  his 

bandit  tales. 

But  Bill  never  sinned,  the  record  shows,  he 

just  liked  to  loaf,  which  only  goes 
To  prove  that  Bill  wasn't  truly  bad,  for 

loafing  is  really  a  social  fad; 
So  he  lived  his  life  as  he  wanted  to,  though 

the  townsfolk  flayed  him  black-and-blue, 
And  at  every  sneer  he'd  smile  and  say: 

"Wai,  I  ain't  no  hypocrite,  anyway." 
38 


And  then  the  day  of  the  Great  War  came, 

and  they  called  for  men  to  play  the 

game, 
A  squad  of  regulars,  bronze  of  face,  set  up 

a  tent  in  the  market-place, 
And  they  asked  for  men  to  volunteer,  they 

warned  the  Draft  was  drawing  near, 
But  the  stolid  workers  who  tilled  the  land 

seemed,  somehow,  not  to  understand. 

They  wanted  someone  to  lead  the  way, 

someone  to  step  right  up  and  say: 
"Who  is  the  next  to  follow  me  across  the 

sea  to  victory?" 
Of  course,  you've  guessed  'twas  Bill  who 

came  and  made  his  mark  beside  his 

name; 
He  said  no  word  as  he  walked  away, — but 

a  lot  more  signed  the  roll  that  day. 

Then  they  left  for  camp,  these  volunteers, 

amid  a  storm  of  sobs  and  cheers, 
But  not  a  soul  in  the  little  town,  not  a 

living  thing,  save  a  rabbit-houn', 
Had  come  to  the  station  to  say  farewell,  or  to 

wish  good-luck  to  the  ne'er-do-well: 
A  whine  was  the  only  sob  he  heard,  tho 

to  him  'twas  more  than  a  spoken  word. 
39 


And  soon  they'd  quite  forgotten  him,  when 

passing  months  left  memories  dim, 
Until  one  day  his  name  they  read  among  the 

missing  and  the  dead; 
The  message  told  how  he  had  faced  a  hail 

of  lead,  and  how  he'd  raced 
Across  the  gory,  cratered  lands  to  tear  our 

flag  from  Hunnish  hands. 

How  thru  the  smoke  where  waiting  Death 

crouched,    panther-like,    with    fevered 

breath 
To  sear  each  life  that  passed  its  way,  he 

fought,  a  Devil-dog  at  bay, 
He  hewed,  he  smashed,  he  killed,  and  then 

he  brought  the  flag  back  home  again. 
The  ne'er-do-well  had  played  the  game;  the 

village  bowed  its  head  in  shame. 

And  now  of  Bill  they  spoke  with  pride 
throughout  the  peaceful  countryside, 

They  said  he'd  never  been  real  bad,  not 
Bill,  no,  no,  not  really  bad! 

But  just  a  lad  who  liked  to  play,  to  while 
the  weary  hours  away. 

And  thus  in  life  we  all  await  the  rose  with 
held  that  blooms  too  late. 
40 


But  soon  from  out  the  battle  fray  another 

message  winged  its  way, 
Congratulating  all  the  town,  for  Bill  had 

lived  to  bring  renown 
Where  none  had  ever  been  before;  and  then 

a  mighty,  joyous  roar 
Was  sent  across  each  rolling  hill,  across  the 

seas,  across  to  Bill! 

At  last  he  came,  their  native  son,  to  claim 
the  heritage  he'd  won; 

The  Stars-and-Stripes  were  everywhere,  tri 
umphant  rang  the  trumpet's  blare. 

But  was  it  Bill,  or  just  his  ghost,  this  wasted 
form  that  faced  the  host, 

Whose  blood-shot  eyes  roamed  all  around, 
whose  lips  framed :  "  Where's  m'  rabbit- 
houn'?" 

But  ev'ry  history  must  end,   so  ere  our 

separate  paths  we  wend, 
We'll  look  on  Bill  in  health  and  ease,  a 

shaggy  head  upon  his  knees; 
We   find   them   where   they   were   before, 

except  it's  now  Bill's  general  store, 
Presented  by  the   town  itself,   and  Bill's 

own  till  is  on  the  shelf. 
41 


VAULTING  SUNBEAMS 

(Nestor  to  the  Greek  generals:  "The  secret 
of  victory  is  in  getting  a  good  ready.") 

He  carried  a  book  every  place  that  he  went, 

And  he  bracketed  thoughts  that  he  read : 
The  people  would  smile  at  the  studious  chap, 

And  we  think  that  we  know  what  they 

said; 

They  called  him   eccentric,   and  possibly 
worse, — 

It's  a  trait  of  the  masses,  you  know, 
To  jeer  at  the  fellow  ambitious  to  climb 

Where  they  haven't  courage  to  go. 

He  studied  the  things  that  he  thought  he 

would  need 

When  his  big  opportunity  came, 
The  things  that  develop  and  make  for  suc 
cess, 

That  help  men  to  win  at  life's  game; 
He  seemed  not  to  notice  the  smiles  of  the 

crowds, 

But  clung  to  his  books  with  a  vim, 
Yes,  he  clung  to  his  books,  to  his  dreams, 

to  his  hopes, 
Though  the  world  went  on  smiling  at  him. 

42 


At  last,  when  Discouragement  stalked  at 

his  side, 

Quite  apparently  certain  to  win, 
When  Failure  cavorted  grotesquely  about, 
With  the  mockery  of  Fate's  harlequin, 
When  effort  seemed  wasted  and  faith  had 

grown  cold, 

When  his  dreams  lost  their  bright,  cheer 
ful  hue, 

He  heard  Opportunity  knock  at  his  door, 
And  a  voice  said:    "I've  come,  lad,  for 
you." 

"I'm  ready!"  he  cried,  with  resolve  in  his 

heart, 

"I'm  ready  to  take  to  the  road." 
"That's  why  I  am  here,"  Opportunity  said. 

Then  off  to  the  hill-top  he  rode. 
And  those  who  had  scoffed  at  him  watched 

from  afar, 

As  he  vaulted  each  sunbeam  and  cloud, 
And  most  of  them  wished  that  he'd  tumble 

to  earth, — 
But  he  just  couldn't  follow  the  crowd! 


43 


ME  AN'  JIM 

Sometime  I  git  in  a  thoughtful  mood, 
When  m'  pipe's  'bout  right,  an'  I   sit  'n 

brood 

'Bout  why  things  is  an'  why  things  ain't — 
(But  o'  course  not  meanin'  no  complaint) 
Jest  a  confidential  revery, 
With  no  one  'round  t'  disagree. 

Y  'd  be  surprised  if  y'  really  knew 

What  a  heap  o'  comfort  an'  pleasure,  too, 

I  git  with  Jimmy — Jim's  m'  dog — 

'Fore  a  laughin',  cracklin',  blazin'  log, 

With  th'  wind  a-howlin'  dismal  out, 

An'  not  a  livin'  soul  about. 

'Cause  Jim  believes  everything  I  say — 
Never  does  no  questionin'    'bout  date  or 

day; 

An'  that's  a  thing  I  like,  y'  know: 
If  I  fib  a  bit — he  lets  it  go. 
Though  a  argyment  on  facts  alone 
Is  most  like  chops — with  jest  th'  bone. 

An'  po'try — laws!    WTiy  it  comes  t'  me 
By  th'  foot  an'  yard  jest  as  natchely; 

44 


There  ain't  no  rhyme,  or  like  o'  that, 
An'  I  guess  it  might  read  kind  o'  flat; 
But  it  seems  t'  come  from  th'  heart  o'  me — 
A  sort  o'  home-made  symphony. 

An'  I  travels  then  t'  th'  days  gone  by, 
When  m'  back  was  straight  an'  m'  step 

was  spry; 

An'  through  th'  smoke  I  see  a  face 
That  all  life's  sunshine  can't  replace; 
An'  I  try  t'  smile,  but  sigh  instead 
For  th'  joy  that  came,  th'  joy  that  fled. 

An'  then  I  strive  for  t'  hum  a  song, 
With  old  Jim's  tail  beatin'  time  all  wrong : 
A  song  I  used  t'  hear  her  sing, 
When  th'  days  t'  us  were  al'ays  spring; 
But  m'  throat  gits  choaked  an'  m'   eyes 

grow  dim, 
An'  I  says:  "Tain't  much  use  tryin',  Jim." 

An'  Jim — he  knows — for  he  comes  t'  me 
An'  licks  m'  hands  so  consolingly; 
I  jest  don't  trust  m'self  t'  speak, 
'Cause  I'm  feelin'  kind  o'  sad  and  meek, 
With  th'  fire  burnin'  mighty  low 
An'  a-throwin'  out  a  cheerless  glow. 
45 


But  I  stirs  it  up  with  a  log  or  two, 

For  I  jest   can't  stand  gettin'  drear  and 

blue; 

M'  pipe's  most  out,  so  I  lights  it  up, 
Then  I  take  a  teeny-weeny  sup; 
An'  I  says:  "Things  might  be  worser,  Jim, 
So  let's  keep  right  on  trustin'  Him." 


"FISHIN" 

"Let's  go  a-fishin',  Mary." 

"Begorry,  an'  let's"  sez  she. 
An'  thin  wid  our  rods,  an'  OUT  lines  an' 

things, 
We  go  to  th'  wood  where  th'  brooklet  sings, 

As  happy  as  we  kin  be. 

"  Fishin'  is  foine,"  sez  Mary, 

"Indade,  an'  it's  great,"  sez  Oi. 
An'  divil  a  fish'll  we  ketch  all  day, 
A  fishermen's  luck,  but  a  lover's  pay, — 
Kissin'  is  better,  thinks  Oi. 


46 


GO  T'  SLEEP,  HONEY 

Hush,  a-baby,  close  yo'  eyes, 

An'  go  right  off  t'  sleep; 
Great,  big  goblin  comin'  sure 

T'  ketch  yo'  ef  yo'  peep. 

'Taint  no  use  t'  make  a  fuss — 

Yo'  better  snuggle  tight; 
'Spect  I'se  gwain  t'  play  wif  yo' 

All  day  an'  half  de  night? 

Ebenin's  growin'  mighty  late, 

De  birds  am  gone  t'  nest; 
Eb'ry  thing  wif  eyes  t'  close 

Hab  shut  'em  tight  in  rest. 

Mammy's  gettin'  tired,  too, 
Jes'  'cause  de  moon's  so  bright; 

Gwain  t'  go  t'  bed  ma  self, — 

Good-night,  dear  chile,  good-night. 


47 


DREAMS 

There  is  something  fine  La  the  world  for  you, 
Something  that  you  are  meant  to  do, 
Something  the  future  holds  in  store 
Only  for  you  on  Tomorrow's  shore. 

Something  you  crave  in  the  dreams  you 

dream, 
Something    that    glows    in    the    twilight's 

gleam, 

Never  forgotten,  ever  bright, 
Bright  with  the  hope  of  a  dawning  light. 

Then  when  the  night  clouds   have  rolled 

away, 

Sunbeams  will  radiantly  clothe  your  day, 
Showing  the  path  that  is  yours  to  tread, 
Lighting  the  way  where  your  dreams  have 

led. 

Then  will  you  learn  that   the  dream-god 

knew 

All  of  the  work  that  is  yours  to  do, 
Knew  very  well  that  since  life  began 
Dreams  are  the  things  that  mould  the  man. 

48 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  YOUTH 

I  heard  a  voice. 

In  vibrant,  ringing  tone  it  bid  me  wait. 
I  named  my  choice. 

Impetuous  youth  cried  out  'twould  be  too 
late. 

And  so  I  tried. 

Spurred  on  by  hope  I  faced  my  future's  sun. 

The  voice  had  lied. 

I  struck  with  my  unerring  youth  and  won. 

MOODS 

Be  careful  of  moods;  they  are  dang'rous 

things, 

Especially  the  profligate  mood  that  brings 
A  deep  discontent  with  the  work  you  do, 
That  vitiates  all  that  is  fine  in  you. 

Encourage  the  mood  with  the  plenitude 
Of  vision  to  see  but  the  rainbow-hued; 
Absorb  all  the  good  that  the  world  can 

give, 
And  soon  you  will  find  joy  intuitive. 


THE  GLORY  OF  FAILURE 

If  each  loved  heart  were  lost  to  me  on  earth, 
And  every  cherished  dream  in  ashes  lay, 
If  every  hope  that  I  had  deemed  of  worth 
Had  passed  into  the  night  from  sanguine 

day; 

If  everything  that  I  hold  dear — my  friends, 
My  inmost  loves,  my  fondest  joys,  had 

died, 
I'd  thank  my  God,  who  every  judgment 

sends, 

For  e'en   my   failures — knowing   I    had 
tried. 


A  THUNK 

Very  often,  when  you  think  a  thought,  you 

haven't  thunk  a  thing, 
So  you  think  the  thought  you  thought  you 

thunk  anew; 
Now,  the  thought  I  think  I  thought  I  thunk 

has  such  a  friendly  ring, 
That  I  think  I'll  send  the  thought  I  thunk 

to  you: 

"  Good  luck,  good  cheer   and   a   never- 
fading  smile." 

50 


PERSUASION 

Hey  there,  fellers,  come  on  in, 

Water's  fine,  y'bet; 
Gee!    I  wouldn't  be  a  coward, 

'Fraid  o'  gettin'  wet. 

Aw,  gowan,  I  ain't  a-shiverin, 

Betcher  life  I'm  not; 
Watch  me  duck,  here  goes,  ca-splash! 

Oof!    It's  a-1-m-o-s-t   h-o-t. 

Go  and  look  for  Deacon  Brown, 
An'  tell  him  where  I've  been; 

Let  'im  holler,  I  don't  care, 
Swimmin'  ain't  no  sin. 

Aw,  come  on,  kids,  what's  the  odds, 

Folks  won't  know  t'hum: 
That's  the  ticket,  wade  in  slow, 

Gee !    I  know'd  y 'd  come. 


THE  BRIGHT  THINGS  OF  LIFE 

A  thought  that  is  winged  from  a   friend 

to  a  friend, 

Doesn't  seem  such  a  wonderful  thing; 
Yet  it  carries  the  prayer  for  a  joy  without 

end, 
And  it  throbs  with  a  big,  friendly  ring. 

A  mere  word  of  cheer,  in  the  shadow  of 

night, 

When  discouragement  darkens  the  way, 
Will  illumine  our  hearts  with  the  glorious 

light 
Of  a  hopeful  and  sun-brightened  day. 

When  failure  confronts  us  and  darkens  our 

goals, 

How  we  long  for  the  clasp  of  a  hand! 
It  is  then  that  we  cry  from  the  depths  of 

OUT  souls, 
For  a  friend  who  can  just  understand. 

A  bright,  cheery  smile  often  gives  us  the 

strength 
That  we  lack  in  the  vortex  of  strife, 


For  it  lightens  our  load,  as  we  travel  the 

length 
Of  the  care-laden  path  we  call  Life. 

So  we  find,  after  all,  that  the   things  we 

thought  small, 

Loom  colossal  above  all  the  host; 
That  the  best  of  God's  gifts  are  the  friends 

we  can  call 
To  our  side  when  we  need  them  the  most. 


HOW  TO  LIVE 

Give  me  your  hand  when  I  need  it  most, 
Give  me  your  smile  when  I'm  sad, 

Speak  but  a  word  to  my  idle  boast, 
Teach  me  to  live  and  be  glad. 

Teach  me  to  follow  the  righteous  way, 
Show  me  life's  worthiest  plan, 

Teach  me  to  live  it  day  by  day, 
Help  me  to  be  a  man! 


53 


THE  TAIL  OF  A  DOG 

A  little  dog's  tail  is  a  wonderful  thing, 

For  it  wags  all  the  livelong  day: 
And  whether  the  dog  be  a  hybrid  or  king, 

The  tail  is  a  tail  alway; 
Its  shape  and  its  size  never  matter  at  all, 

It's  the  wag  that  is  worth  the  while, 
Por  its  tempo  allegro  is  constant  withal, 

And  that  is  our  doggie's  smile. 

It  welcomes  us  home,  it  bids  us  good-by, 

And  we  know  it  will  never  fail; 
We'd  miss  it  as  much  as  the  blue  of  the  sky, 

This  wag  of  our  doggie's  tail: 
For  in  each  joyous  sway  is  the  beat  of  his 
heart, 

Full  of  love  that  is  free  from  guile, 
And  the  wealth  of  the  world  wouldn't  move 
us  to  part 

With  the  wag  that  is  doggie's  smile. 


YOUR  WORTH 

The  world  takes  a  man  at  his  own  valua 
tion, 

No  matter  how  high  it  may  be, 
But  it  asks  that  the  proof  of  the  verification 

Be  shown  in  his  own  industry. 

The  best  gifts  of  life  are  the  crown  of  the 

worker, 

And  toil  is  the  seed  he  must  sow, 
While  failure  and  anguish  will  follow  the 

shirker, 
So  plant  fertile  deeds  as  you  go. 

TRY 

It  matters  not  what  your  work  may  be, 

If  only  you  do  it  well, 
If  only  you  do  it  joyously, 

If  only  you  feel  its  spell. 

It   matters   not   if   you   win  your   quest, 

Or  fail  in  your  bold  attempt; 
If  only  you  Tried  to  do  your  best, 

Your  conscience  will  be  "exempt." 

55 


MAN'S  CREED 

Turn  your  face  to  the  Eastward,  and  look 

to  the  rising  sun. 
The  sorrows  that  seared  the  bygone  years 

are  victories  you  have  won. 

Fight  in  the  sunlit  open,  for  Truth  will 

defeat  Despair. 
Success  is  the  tribute  fairly  won  by  those 

who  will  do  and  dare. 

Tomorrow  is  yours  to  cope  with.    Think 

not  of  yesterday, 
But  place  your  hopes  high  upon  the  rocks, 

and  cast  your  fears  away. 

Life  is  yours  to  be  moulded,  so  do  with  it 

as  you  should. 
And  if  God  wills  you  should  win,  or  lose, 

you  have  done  the  best  you  could. 


56 


THE  BIRTH  OF  OLD  GLORY 

'Twas  God  Who  took  from  heaven's  dome 
The  stars  that  were  twinkling  there, 

And  the  glist'ning  light  of  the  fleecy  white 
Enfolding  the  cloud-banks  fair; 

He  took  from  the  roses  their  deepest  red, 
From  violets  their  azure  hue, 

So  we  call  the  bars  and  the  fielded  stars 

The  Red, 

White, 

and  Blue! 


PLAN  TODAY 

There's  naught  upon  Tomorrow's  page, 

The  scroll  awaits  your  pen; 
Tomorrow  is  your  heritage, 

And  ne'er  will  come  again. 

But  if  Tomorrow  is  to  be 

A  wondrous  day  and  strong, 
Pray  plan  Today,  and  keep  it  free 

From  everything  save  song. 


57 


THE  GIRL  WHO'S  MISUNDERSTOOD 

The  church  folk  sneer  at  the  chorus  girl, 

and  call  her  a  thing  of  shame, 
And  they  hem  and  haw  in  their  holy  awe 

at  the  very  sound  of  her  name; 
They  are  bound  to  state  that  the  lady's  fate 

was  shaped  by  the  devil's  hand, 
So  they  pass  her  with  a  dread  "Oh,  my!" 

for  they  just  don't  understand. 

The  path  they  tread  is  a  narrow  one,  and 

their  world  is  a  little  place, 
For  they  judge  a  soul  and  its  future  goal 

by  the  smile  of  a  pretty  face; 
And  it's  their  belief  that  a  crowning  grief 

and  the  pain  of  an  aching  heart, 
Do  not  belong  to  the  girl  of  song  who 

struggles  from  them  apart. 

So  the  righteous  world,  with  its  heavy  pride, 

strides  haughtily  on  its  way: 
It  fears  to  go  where  the  calciums  glow,  for 

what  would  the  neighbors  say? 
So  it  turns  its  head,  in  its  Christian  dread, 

and  pockets  its  helping  hand; 
But    'twill  ever  be  through  eternity,  for 

the  world  can't  understand. 
58 


"ARGUED  BY  THE  WORKIN'  MAN" 

Sez  Paddy  Flynn  t'  me  lasht  noight,  sez  he: 
"Begobs,  me  bye,  it's  gettin'  purty  bad 
Whin  wimmin  folks,  t'  satisfy  a  fad, 
Air  takin'  jobs  frim  ye  an'  me,  me  lad; 

Sez  Oi  to  ye,  sez  Oi,  it  shouldn't  be." 

At  thot  Oi  ups  an'  answers  widout  fear: 
"Indade,   wid  yez,   me  frind,  Oi  don't 

agree; 

Fer  anny  mon  would  not  contented  be 
Widout  a  gel  t'  run  th'  famalee; 

A  maid,"  sez  Oi,  "is  born  t'  injineer." 


THE  SOUL  OF  A  FRIEND 

A  little  smile  once  in  a  while, 

The  meaning  clasp  of  a  hand, 
A  word  of  hope,  as  we  onward  grope 

Toward  the  shore  of  our  wonderland; 
A  bit  of  praise  in  our  shadow-days, 

A  song  to  our  journey's  end: 
Ah,  this  to  me  is  life's  symphony — 

And  it's  all  in  the  soul  of  a  friend! 


59 


I  WONDER  IF  IT'S  LOVE 

When  a  fellow  thinks  continually  of  a  cer 
tain  charming  girl, 

And  carries  in  his  watch  case  a  little  golden 
curl, 

If  he  quite  forgets  his  breakfast,  or  departs 
without  his  tie, 

Or,  perchance,  should  stare  in  vacancy  and 

pass  his  friends  right  by, — 
I  wonder  if  it's  love. 

If  he  argues  with  his  tailor  'bout  the  clothes 

that  he  should  wear, 
And  buys  the  best  imported  oils  to  grease 

his  rumpled  hair, 
If  his  view  of  politics  is  changed  because  of 

woman's  rights, 
Or  if  he   speaks   respectfully   to   girls   he 

thought  were  frights, — 
I  wonder  if  it's  love. 

If  he  wanders  through  a  jewelry  store  and 

asks  the  price  of  rings, 
Explaining  that  his  sister  fancies  all  such 

foolish  things, 


60 


If  he  starts  to  save   his  salary,    looks  at 

bargain  real  estate, 
If  he  claims  that  no  good  citizen  should  be 

a  celibate, — 
I  wonder  if  it's  love. 


If  he  stands  outside  her  window  on  a 
cold  and  blustry  night, 

Just  to  see  her  shadow  flick'ring  on  the 
shade  against  the  light, 

If  he  reads  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  learn 
ing  phrases  quite  by  heart, 

With  the  thought  that  he  will  speak  one 
when  from  her  he'll  have  to  part, — 
I  wonder  if  it's  love. 


I  am  seeking  imformation,  for  I'd  like  to 

know,   you   see, 
Whether  all  the  things  I've  mentioned  are 

as  they  should  really  be; 
Should   I   see   a   good    physician,    by   his 

learned  word  abide, 
Or   a   recommended   clergyman, — I   really 

can't  decide, — 
But  I'm  wondering  if  it's  love. 


61 


THE  YOUTH  OF  TOMORROW 

We're  all  of  us  children  grown  up, 
But  gone  is  the  gold  of  the  buttercup 
That  gilded  our  hair  in  our  yesterdays, 
And  gone  is  the  sweetness  of  childhood's 
ways. 

Oh,  why  do  we  leave  all  the  joy  behind 
That  could  be  so  easily  with  age  combined, 
The  joy  that  we  crave  when  our  years 

unfold 
And  leave  but  the  spectre  of  Youth  grown 

old. 


BETTER  'N  NONE 

She  had  a  pinkish  bonnet,  with  a  bunch  o' 

flowers  on  it 

And  a  lot  o'  ribbon  trailing  from  the  back; 
But,  alas!  'twas  old  from  wearing,  so  the 

maiden,  coy  and  daring, 
Took  the  trimmin's  off  and  dyed  the  bonnet 

black. 


62 


THE  COST 

He  made  his  prayer  to  a  dollar  bill, 

(The  most  of  us  do,  you  know) 
He  cared  not  a  bit  for  the  rook  or  rill, 
For  the  laughing  brook  or  the  friendly  hill, 
Or  the  whisp'ring  winds  that  blow. 

He  grew  as  hard  as  his  worshiped  gold, 

His  heart  was  a  piece  of  stone; 
The  prime  of  life  found  him  bent  and  old, 
With  features  stern  and  with  soul  grown 

cold: 
He  walked  through  the  world  alone. 

At  last  he  realized  the  joy  he'd  lost, 
And  writhed  at  the  sneer  of  Fate; 

He  searched  for  the  flowers  his  greed  had 
cost, 

He  looked  for  love,  but  he  found  but  frost: 
The  awakening  had  come  too  late! 

SMILE  YOUR  WAY 

Sighs  and  frowns  are  not  for  you, 
Nor  for  anyone  with  work  to  do; 
Keep   well   within   the   bounds   of    cheer. 
And   smile   your   way   thruout   the   year. 

63 


FRIENDSHIP'S  MEMORY 

It  takes  but  a  minute  to  say  -good-bye, 
But  a  mighty  long  time  to  forget, 

With  many  a  heartache,  many  a  sigh, 
And  many  a  deep  regret. 

So  make  ev'ry  friendship  so  fine  and  fair, 
The  essence  of  sweetest  blends, 

That  only  its  fragrance  will  fill  the  air 
O'er  the  roadway  where  memory  wends. 


FIGHT  ON! 

Never  ask  yourself  the  question:    "Is  my 

effort  worth  the  while; 
Would  it  not  be  well  to  leave  this  task 

undone?" 
But  remember  strength  is  tested  by   an 

honest,  fearless  trial; 

And    by    effort    goals   are   reached   and 
battles  won. 


THE  TRAIL 

I  very  often  wonder 

What  it's  really  all  about, 
The  longing,  and  the  waiting, 

And  the  everlasting  doubt, 
The  thinking  if  we'll  make  it 

Much  before  we  have  to  go : 
I  very  often  wonder 

If  the  burning's  worth  the  glow. 

I  ask  myself  the  question, 

Can  Tomorrow's  gain  repay 
All  the  sorrow  and  the  anguish 

That  the  struggle  brings  Today: 
Is  it  truly  worth  the  effort, 

When  we  can't  foresee  the  end, 
This  chasing  after  sunbeams 

That  with  shadows  ofttimes  blend? 

But  I  find  my  answer  nestling 

In  the  work  I  have  to  do, 
In  this  very  self-same  struggle, 

In  the  hope  that's  ever  new: 
And  my  heart  grows  strong  with  courage, 

For  I  know  that  should  I  fail, 
I'll  have  sounded  life's  deep  meaning, 

In  my  holding  to  the  trail. 

65 


MORE  WAYS  THAN  ONE 

Pat  McDooin  was  a  sailor  whin  he  met 

swate  Nora  Naylor; 
It  was  thin  he  lost  his  head  an'  heart 

complete, 
But  th'  maiden  wouldn't  listen;  said  she 

niver  would  be  his'n 

'Til  he  owned  a  rig'ler  Trans-Atlantic 
fleet. 

"Phat's  th'  use  o'  gittin'  married?    I'd  hev 

more  fer  havin'  tarried, 
Sure,  th'  home  Oi  live  in  now  is  good 

enough." 
That's  phat  Nora  towld  her  lover;  thin  he 

vowed  by  all  above  her 
That  he'd  hustle  oop  an'  call  her  little 
bluff. 

Pat  McDooin  knew  he  niver  could  possess 

a  fleet  t'  win  her, 
So  he  formed  a  plan  that  listened  good, 

withal; 
Whin  her  dad  wint  blue-fish  selling,  Patsy 

burned  his  swateheart's  dwelling; 
Thin  poor  Nora  hed  no  home  at  all,  at  all. 


Thin  th'  foxy  Pat  McDooin  wid  a  vim  pur 
sued  his  wooin'. 
"You  hed  besht,"  sez  he,  "fergit  about 

th'  fleet." 
"Sure,"  sez  Nora,  "Oi  must  give  in,  fer  Oi 

hev  no  place  t'  live  in." 
So  she  moved  t'  Patsy's  shanty  oop  th' 
street. 


THY  MESSENGER— A  FRIEND 

I've  always  known  that  friends  are  sent 
By  God  when  we  are  sorely  bent 

Beneath  our  sorrow's  load; 
To  urge  us  on  by  words  of  cheer, 
To  give  us  strength  whece  once  was  fear, 

To  point  the  straightest  road. 

So  when  our  faith  and  hopes  have  flown, 
When  naught  springs  from  the  work  we've 
sown, 

And  failure  marks  the  end, 
Oh,  God,  then  send  some  helping  hand, 
Someone  Thou  knows  will  understand — 

Thy  messenger — a  friend. 


67 


THAT'S  WHY  HE'S  AN  AMERICAN 

An  American  never  starts  a  thing 

That  he  doesn't  finish  right, 
And  he's  never  content  till  the  job  is  done, 

With  never  an  oversight; 
When  he  says  "I  will!"  he  sets  his  jaw, 

And  crushes  his  way  clear  through, 
And  that's  why  he's  an  American, — 

He's  learned  to  dare  and  do. 

He  has  learned  that  a  task  that's  worth  the 
while, 

Is  worthy  to  be  well  done, 
And  he  isn't  the  sort  to  mutiny, 

When  the  victory's  all  but  won; 
He  isn't  the  sort  to  hem-and-haw, 

And  to  pass  the  buck  along, 
And  that's  why  he's  an  American, — 

He's  there  at  the  final  gong. 

He  is  there  with  a  crashing,  smashing  punch, 

He  is  there  with  a  heart  that's  light, 
And  whatever  he  tackles,  rest  assured, 

Will  end  in  a.  finished  fight; 
And  there's  nothing  on  earth  that'll  change 
his  mind, 

68 


When  he's  in  a  fighting  mood, 
And  that 's  why  he 's  an  American, — 
He  comes  of  a  fighting  brood. 

And  whether  the  fight  is  his  alone, 

Or  the  fight  of  a  nation 's  host, 
If  the  cause  is  just,  he'll  give  his  all, 

And  there'll  be  no  idle  boast; 
He'll  do  and  he'll  give  till  the  need  shall 
cease, 

Till  the  right  transcends  the  wrong, 
And  that' s  why  he 's  an  American, — 

And  he's  a  hundred-million  strong! 


MOTHER 

The  world  is  a  finer,  better  place, 
For  the  love  that  glows  in  your  kindly  face, 
For  the  smile  that  is  constant,  ever  there, 
For  your  cheer  that  banishes  dark  despair 
For  all  that  you  are,  for  all  you  do, 
Ah,  the  world  is  better  for  knowing  you, 
My  Mother. 


BE  LOYAL  TO  YOUR  THOUGHTS 

Be  loyal  to  the  thoughts  that  your  heart 

holds  dear, 

No  matter  what  others  may  say; 
Just  laugh  at  the  world  and  the  cynic's 

sneer, 
And  earnestly  go  your  way. 

For  the  world  doesn't  care  for  ideals,  some 
how, 

Nor  for  him  whom  ideals  imbue, 
Yet  will  offer  its  hand  and  will  make  its 

bow 
To  the  man  whose  ideals  come  true. 

It  cares  not  a  mite  should  he  lose  or  win, 
But  says,  with  a  knowing  look: 

"I  told  you  so!"  Then  his  name  goes  in 
Or  out  of  the  world's  big  book. 

So  be  loyal  to  the  thoughts  that  your  heart 
holds  dear, 

A  fig  for  the  world,  or  less ! 
Believe  in  yourself  and  you'll  change  its  jeer 

To  a  smile  and  a  sweet  caress. 

70 


EACH  PLAYS  A  PART 

Dreamers   are   needed   to   pierce    the   to 
morrow, 

Idealists  to  visualize  work  to  be  done; 
Each  has  a  purpose  that  all  well  might 

borrow — 

The  purpose  to  point  out  the  path  to  be 
run. 

Practical  men  have  a  like  task  before  them, 
The  task  to  make  possible  dreams  and 

ideals, 

Theirs  is  the  office  to  test  and  explore  them : 
So  all  men,  you  see,  are  in  Life's  Balance- 
wheels. 


FAILURE 

What  if  you  fail  in  the  task  at  hand? 

Smile,  carry  on  once  more! 
Rally  your  forces,  then,  full-manned, 

Pull  for  another  shore. 

Failure  but  spurs  on  the  optimist, 

On  to  another  goal, 
Points  out  the  way,  if  he'll  but  persist: 

Failure  gives  strength  to  soul! 


71 


TRAMP  PHILOSOPHY 

I  say,  pard!     What's  th'  use  o'  worryin'? 
'Tain't  no  use,  honest  'tain't.      What's  th' 
good  o'  goin'  'round  a-lookin'  black'  an' 
cussful  like,  a-makin'  everybody  miserable? 
They's  got  t'  give  y'  yer  beans,  anyhow;  an' 
water's  'bout  as  plentiful  as  hard  luck. 
Gowan  out  in  th '  park  an*  load  up  on  fresh 
air;  an'  look  at  th'  trees  an'  grass  an* 
flowers;  it's  cheap  an'  it's  'ealthy.     Watch 
th'  river  runnin'  along  peaceful  an'  quiet; 
jump  in,  if  y'  wanter;  won't  hurt  th'  river. 
Then  come  back  again  an'   smile  some — 
an'  then  some  more.     Gee,  y'  ain't  got  no 
idee  'ow  easy  'tis  till  y've  tried.     An'  that's 
gospel,  too. 
I  say,  pard!    What's  th'  use  o'  worryin'? 


EVERY  DAY 

Every  day  has  its  quota  of  smiles, 

Every  day  has  its  laughter, 
Every  day  has  its  joy  that  beguiles 

And  brightens  the  day  that  comes  after. 


SMILE 

You  can  capture  the  world  with  a  smile, 

if  you  will, 

Where  a  grimace  will  turn  it  away, 
For  a  grip  of  the  hand, 
Or  a  word  that  is  bland, 
Has  the  strength  of  a  dynamic  sway. 

It's  a  smile  that  the  busy  old  world  com 
prehends, 

While  a  frown  is  a  thing  it  detests; 
So  you  may  as  well  do 
What  the  world  asks  of  you, 
If  you  hope  to  deserve  its  bequests. 

LADY  FAIR. 

(Triolet) 

In  the  clear  summer  air 

There's  a  name  I  am  hearing:       * 
It  is  yours,  lady  fair, 
In  the  clear  summer  air. 
Ah,  my  heart's  in  despair 

With  its  music  endearing, 
In  the  clear  summer  air 

There's  a  name  I  am  hearing. 


73 


THERE'S  AN  AWFUL  LOT  O'  HAP 
PINESS  AROUND 

When  the  line  of  your  horizon  has  a  gloomy 

sort  o'  look, 

WTien  the  sky  you  thought  was  blue 
Has  a  blackish,  angry  hue, 
Find  a  quiet,  peaceful  woodland — hear  the 

laughter  of  the  brook: 
There's  an  awful  lot  o'  happiness  around. 

When  your  heart  is  mighty  heavy  with  a 

sorrow  you  must  bear, 
When  the  sunbeams'  dancing  light 
Fails  to  pierce  your  dreary  night, 
Try  to  listen  in  the  darkness  for  the  song 

that's  in  the  air: 
There's  an  awful  lot  o'  happiness  around. 

You  will  find  it  in  the  morning,  at  the  very 

break  of  day, 
In  the  sun-lit  afternoon, 
In  the  myst'ry  of  the  moon; 
You  can  hear  it  in  the  treetops  bidding  all 

the  world  be  gay: 
There's  an  awful  lot  o'  happiness  around. 

74 


Everyone  has  had  a  heartache,    everyone 

has  known  grief, 
But  I'm  sure  that  after  pain 
Joy  has  always  come  again, 
Just   as   sunshine   follows    rain: 
It  is  as  our  Lord  intended,  leastways  that 

is  my  belief: 
There's  an  awful  lot  o'  happiness  around. 

Sound  the  depths  of  simple  pleasure,  learn 

the  worth  of  being  kind, 
Let   your    watchword    be    a    smile, 
Do  the  things  that  seem  worth  while, 
Then  your  life  will  be  a  symphony,  and 

you  will  surely  find, 
There's  an  awful  lot  o'  happiness  around. 

IN  MEMORY 

Every  breath  of  the  wind  that  blows, 
Every  flake  of  the  winter  snows, 
Every  twig  of  the  pine  that  grows, 

Speaks  to  me  of  thee; 
In  my  heart,  when  the  Day  is  gone, 
Through  the  years,  be  they  drear  or  long, 
You  will  live,  as  the  lilt  of  song, 

In  my  memory. 

75 


SCANDAL 

There's  a  vicious  bit  of  scandal 
In  the  endless  stretch  of  skies; 

Can  you  guess? 

All  the  stars  are  deeply  conscious; 
It  has  dimmed  their  lust'rous  eyes, 
They  confess. 

It  concerns — you  won't  divulge  it? — 
Well,  I'll  tell  you — Mr.  Moon! 

Why,  his  children  say  he  acted 
Like  a  foolish  old  buffoon. 

It's  a  shame  a  man  so  hoary 

Should  be  led  by  Bacchus'  tune. 
Such  a  mess! 

It  is  said,  quite  unexpected, 

Mr.  Moon  slipped  out  one  night 

Joy  to  woo. 

Wrenched  the  Dipper  from  its  fastenings, 
Toward  the  Milky  Way  took  flight. 
No  one  knew. 

But  he  drank  too  much  ambrosia 

In  a  neighborhood  cafe, 
Where  they  took  his  Dipper  from  him 


76 


When  he  said  he  couldn't  pay. 
Then  they  sent  the  Full  Moon  homeward 
Minus  Dipper,  in  dismay. 
Sad,  but  true. 


BLARNEY 

Whin  ye're  needin'  a  shmile  or  a  wee  bit 

o'  blarney, 
T'  banish  th'  cares  of  a  storm-clouded 

day, 
Or  a  rift  o'  the  sunshine  that  blesses  Kil- 

larney, 
An'   cheers   every   heart   wid   its   warm 

Irish  ray; 
Sure,  I  want  y'  t'  know  I'll  be  waitin'  yer 

callin' — 
I'll  answer  yer  voice  t'  th'  world's  furthest 

end, 
An'  I'll  be  at  yer  side  ere  th'  night  shades 

have  fallen 

T'  bring  y'  a  shmile  wid  th'  twilight,  old 
friend. 


77 


FRIENDS 

God  took  the  fragrance  of  myriad  flowers, 
The  soul  of  the  morning,  the  shade  of  the 

bowers, 
He  plucked  from  the  sunset  the  hue  of  its 

shading, 
The  song  from  the  brook,  and  the  birds' 

serenading; 

God  took  the  quiet  and  peace  of  the  foun 
tain, 
The  truth  of  the  hills  and  the  strength  of 

the  mountain: 
He  bound  them  in  faith  that  will  ne'er 

break  nor  perish, 
And  gave  them  to  us  in  the  Friends  that 

we  cherish. 

WILL 

Will  to  live  the  life  of  a  man, 
Will  to  lead,  not  follow,  the  van, 
Will  the  world  to  answer  your  call, 
Will  the  world  to  bring  you  its  all! 

Learn  that  Will  can  give  all  you  crave, 
Make  it  serve  you,  make  it  your  slave, 
Sense  the  thrill  of  deeds  nobly  done, 
Will  to  gain  success — and  'tis  won! 

78 


WORTH  TRYING 

They  say  that  life's  a  funny  proposition, 

after  all. 
Guess  'tiz! 
But  what  is  gained  by  toasting  it  in  bumpers 

full  of  gall? 
Gee  whiz ! ! 
Go  on  your  way  rejoicing,  smile  a  little 

now  and  then; 
You'll  feel  a  whole  lot  better,  and  you'll 

find  your  fellowmen 
Will  welcome  you  where'er  you  go — they'll 

ask  you  back  again. 
Helps  biz!!! 

WHOSE  FAULT? 

The  world  is  a  bitter,  noxious  place, 
With  never  a  spark  or  touch  or  trace 
Of  anything  good  like  a  saving  grace, 
It's  a  horrid  old  world  of  sin. 

But  that  is  the  world  of  him  who  rails, 
Who  never  will  try,  who  always  fails; 
The  man  who  would  follow  Fortune's  trails 
Must  have  hope  and  a  smile  to  win. 


79 


BE  A  MAN 

It's  a  mighty  good  thing,  while  you're  run 
ning  life's  race, 

Just  to  pause,  as  you  go,  and  to  come  face 
to  face 

With  your  conscience,  and  ask  it  a  question 
or  two; 

For  it's  right  you  should  know  what  your 
life  means  to  you. 

Have  you  done  things  worth  while,  have 

you  drifted  along, 
Have  you   filled  it  with  sighs,  have  you 

filled  it  with  song, 
Have  you  helped  when  you  should,  have 

you  tried  to  do  right, 
Have    you    struggled    for    good,    or    just 

fought  on  for  might? 

Have  you  given  your  hand  to  some  fellow 

in  need, 
Have  you  sneered  at  the  man  who  was  not 

of  your  creed, 
Have  you   been   open-hearted   and   ready 

to  do, 
Have  you  tried  to  be  just,  have  you  tried  to 

be  true? 

80 


In  your  judgment  of  men,  have  you  been 
always  fair, 

Have  you  learned  to  forgive  in  the  face  of 
despair, 

Have  you  fought  against  greed,  or  suc 
cumbed  to  its  lust, 

Have  you  learned  what  it  means  to  protect 
and  to  trust? 

Oh,  it's  easy  to  preach  and  it's  easy  to  tell 
Of  the  other  chap's  faults — but  our  own 

faults,  ah,  well! 
We  are  cowards  at  times,  and  the  truth, 

you  will  find, 
Is  a  thing  we  dislike,  for  it's  rather  unkind. 

But  the  Past,  let  it  rest.     Give  a  thought 

to  To-day 
And  To-morrow,  as  well,  for  the  Time's 

growing  gray; 
Do  the  things  that  you  should,  do  the  best 

that  you  can, 
Crown  your  life  with   your    deeds — be   a 

red-blooded  man! 


81 


MARY  DARLINT 

Mary  McGuire,  begorry,  yer  sire 

Should  be  mighty  proud  o'  ye,  darlint, 

fer  sure. 
Wid  yer  cheeks  like  th'  roses,  yer  lips  just 

as  red, 
An'  a  smile  on  yer  face  that's  like  wine  t'  me 

head. 
'Tis  no  wonder  I'm  wishin'  and  longin'  fer 

you, 

When  I  ought  t'  be  earnin'  a  dollar  or  two, 
Mary,  darlint. 

Mary,  ye  divil,  why  can't  ye  be  civil? 
Ye're  breakin'  me  heart  into  wee  little 

bits. 
Sure,  I'm  that  brave  an'  fearless  that  one 

day,  coleen, 
I'll  be  drownin'  what's  left  o'meself  in  th' 

stream; 
Fer  I'm  growin'  so  t'in  from  th'  pert  t'ings 

ye've  said, 
That  I'm  fearin'  some  mornin'  I'll  find  me- 

self  dead, 
Mary,  darlint. 

82 


Mary  McGuire,  I'm  that  much  on  fire 
Wid  love  fer  ye,  sweetheart,  I'm  nearly 
consumed. 

But  I'm  tellin'  ye  true,  if  ye  don't  soon  de 
cide, 

Ye'll  be  dressin'  in  black  'stead  o'  bein'  a 
bride. 

Sure  an'  what's  that  ye're  sayin'?  Ye'll 
marry  me  now? 

Praise  th'  hivens!  I  know'd  I'd  persuade 
y '  somehow, 

Mary,  darlint. 


BE  NOT  IMPULSIVE 

Be  not  impulsive,  think  as  you  go, 
Weigh  ev'ry  move  you  make; 

Be  not  too  hasty,  better  be  slow: 
Vict'ry  may  be  at  stake. 

Pick  out  the  task  you  know  you  can  do, 

Summon  your  vital  Will, 
Take  Thought  and  Judgment,  friends  that 
are  true, — 

Then  to  the  Crested  Hill! 


83 


DREAMING 

I  dreamed  a  dream  in  the  twilight  hours, 

Lulled  by  the  wind  of  a  summer  night, 
That  breathed  a  song  through  my  dream 
land  bowers, 

Touched  by  the  brush  of  a  heav'nly  sprite. 

Mellow  the  beams  of  the  moon's   soft 

light, 
Falling  from  out  of  the  sky's  deep  hue: 

Ah,  but  my  dreaming  was  sweet  delight; 
Glad  was  my  heart  in  its  dream  of  you. 

The  lazy  waves  broke  in  crested  showers: 

Gems  iridescent  the  drops  were  like, 
Which  turned,  'twould  seem,  into  myriad 
flowers — 

Tears  of  the  sea  that  the  stars  made 
bright. 

Such  is  the  fancy  that  dreams  invite, 
Fanciful  joys  that  may  ne'er  come  true! 

Ah,  but  my  dreaming  was  sweet  delight; 
Glad  was  my  heart  in  its  dream  of  you. 

And  mid  the  gold  of  the  moon  that  towers 

Far  in  the  north  in  its  mellow  might, 

I  saw  your  smile.     Ah,  but  God  endowers 

84 


Souls  such  as  yours  with  His  own  love- 
light. 

Wonderful  smile  of  my  yesternight! 
Why  did  you  come  but  to  say  adieu? 

Ah,  but  my  dreaming  was  sweet  delight; 
Glad  was  my  heart  in  its  dream  of  you. 

Come  to  me,  Love,  when  the  day  takes 
flight, 

Sit  by  my  side  until  sleep  shall  woo: 
Ah,  but  my  dreaming  is  sweet  delight; 

Glad  is  my  heart  in  its  dream  of  you. 


AUTUMN 

Velvet  shadows  come  and  go, 

Drifting,  whisp'ring  breezes, 
Winged  adieus  that  sadly  blow, 

Wave  the  shadow  friezes: 
Ghostly  branches,  bare  of  leaves, 

Gently  bend  in  sorrow; 
Summer's  parting  kiss  deceives — 

Winter  comes  tomorrow. 


85 


PLANS 

I  don't  know  what  I'm  goin'  t'  be 

When  I'm  a  great  big  man: 
They're  makin'  lots  o'  plans  fer  me, 

As  families  only  can; 
An'  each  one  has  a  different  thing 

That  I'm  supposed  t'  do, 
But  no  one  ever  thinks  t'  ast: 

"Does  that  appeal  t'  you?" 

Now,  dad,  fer  instance,  thinks  that  I 

Should  study  law  like  him, 
An'  fix  up  people's  wills  an'  things, — 

But  that's  so  tumble  grim; 
While  mother  leans  t'  medicine, 

An'  bandages  an'  ills, 
An'  cuttin'  legs  from  offern  folks, 

An'  castor-oil  an'  pills. 

M'  grandma  says  I'll  have  t'  be 

A  clergyman.     Guess  not! 
T'  dress  m'self  th'  wrong  side  'bout, 

An'  look  like  some  ink-spot; 
M'  sister  thinks  I  oughter  learn 

T'  sing  in  op-er-roar, 
An'  grandpa  says  he  got  his  start 

In  Spivin's  grocery  store. 

86 


They  go  on  plannin'  day  by  day 

What  they  will  do  with  me, 
But  no  one  seems  t'  care  a  darn 

What  I  should  like  t'  be, 
'Cause  no  one  speaks  o'  firemen, 

Er  police,  er  engineers, 
Er  motormen,  er  generals, 

Er  pirate  buccaneers. 

But  that's  th'  worst  o'  bein'  small, 

With  relatives  galore: 
I'd  take  mos'  anything  fer  mine, 

An'  never  ast  fer  more; 
But  when  /'ra  big  an'  know  a  lot, 

I'll  never,  never  plan 
Fer  any  little  growin'  boy 

What  wants  t'  be  a  man! 


OUR  FLAG. 

It  waves  for  you  and  it  waves  for  me, 
In  all  its  splendid  majesty: 
This  olden,  golden  flag  that  holds 
Our  hearts  and  faith  within  its  folds,— 
Long  live  the  Stars  and  Stripes! 


87 


WHEN  I  AM  WEARY 

Whenever  I  am  weary 

And  a  few  points  under  par, 
I  close  my  desk  and  slip  away 

And  get  my  little  car; 
I  grease  it  and  I  oil  it, 

And  I  tune  it  up  a  bit, 
For  one  of  us  must  surely  be 

In  running  trim  and  fit. 

I  dust  its  ancient  body, 

And  I  patch  its  ragged  shoes, 
Then  a  bit  of  ah*  inflation 

With  my  hand-pump  I  infuse: 
I  give  it  gas  aplenty, 

And  a  satisfying  drink, 
And  tie  my  kerchief  round  the  door 

To  stop  its  chronic  clink. 

And  then  I  look  it  over 

Very  thoughtfully  to  see 
If  all  my  lavish  kindliness 

Has  won  its  sympathy; 
I  crank  it  very  gently, 

And  we  bravely  make  a  start, 
As  I  stethoscope  the  pounding 

Of  its  apoplectic  heart. 

88 


But  when  we  reach  the  country, 

Well,  it  seems  we're  both  in  tune, 
For  I  find  myself  a-humming, 

And  the  car  joins  with  its  croon; 
We're  just  like  some  old  couple, 

Who  have  stolen  far  from  home, 
To  be  alone  with  Nature 

And  in  daisy  fields  to  roam. 

And  then  when  all  my  drear  has  gone, 

And  joy  rests  in  its  place, 
We  turn  about  and  make  for  home 

At  just  a  jog-trot  pace; 
And  folks  in  Packards  smile  at  us, 

As  they  go  shooting  by: 
But  we  have  seen  what  they  have  missed- 

The  blue  of  God's  great  sky ! 


ACCORDINGLY 

Think  of  To-morrow,  not  of  To-day, 
Nor  yet  of  the  moments  gone, 

And  To-morrow  will  glow  with  the  sunny  ray 
Of  Yesterday's  blithesome  song. 


89 


PATRIOTISM 

When  war  was  new,  we  used  to  stand, 
And  watch  the  trains  go  crawling  by, 
All  bound  for  some  unknown  ports, 
Where  shadow-ships  tugged  oceanward, 
Impatient,  perhaps,  to  take  our  boys 
To  still  unknown  shores. 

And  how  we'd  cheer,  and  wave  our  hats, 

As  each  long  train  of  khaki  passed, 

And  how  their  voices  answered  us: 

A  sob  in  ours,  a  smile  in  theirs ! 

And  when  they'd  passed,  we'd  turn  away, 

A  damp-eyed  little  group. 

And  now  the  trains  go  rolling  on, 
To  different  cities  by  the  way: 
But  scarcely  do  we  stop  to  glance 
At  those  bronzed  faces,  surly  set; 
And  no  hand  waves,  in  street  or  train. 
'Twould  seem  that  no  one  cares ! 


90 


THE  LEVELER 

What  kindred  interest  we  sense, 
In  palpitating,  eager  throngs, 
That  jostle  in  the  crowded  aisles, 

Of  swaying  cars; 

There — frank  and  friendly  Poverty, 
And  Plenty,  disingenuous, 
Rub  raiment  democratically, 

In  full  accord. 

And  no  one  questions  social  caste, 

Nor  cares  to  know  his  neighbor's  means, 

Nor  yet  the  gross  or  fine  intents, 

That  charge  his  life; 
One  golden,  sympathetic  bond, 
Entwines  all  hearts,  and  holds  them  close 
In  common  fellowship — because — 

They're  going  home! 

And  so,  I'm  sure,  'twill  also  be, 
When  tired  travelers  thread  their  way 
Among  the  stars  that  guard  the  Throne, 

On  that  Great  Day; 
For  naught  but  Love  will  find  a  place, 
In  that  long,  weary  caravan 
Of  kings  and  peasantry — because — 

They're  going  home! 
91 


THE  SERPENT 

In  quiv'ring  length,  its  seething  coils 
Stretch  limply  and  seductively, 
With  passion  in  its  trembling  lines, 
As  though  'twould  rear,  and  wrap  itself 
In  crushing  folds  about  the  form 
Of  Innocence. 

By  day,  the  sunshine  smiles  on  it, 
With  fascinated  reverence, 
Perhaps  seeking  favor  in  its  eyes — 
Its  eyes !     Green-monstered  orbs  that  glint, 
And  vilify  the  sun  by  day, 
The  moon  by  night. 

Where  envy,  greed,  licentiousness, 
And  cold  brutality  gleam  forth, 
To  sear  whate'er  their  shafts  may  strike : 
For  such  as  these,  fair  Decency 
Prostrates  herself — and  then  becomes — 
A  tainted  Thing. 

Yet  willing  victims  woo  its  fangs, 
Allured  by  lying  promises, 
And  hopes  that  never  burst  their  buds; 
To  be  repaid  with  mocking  sneers, 
To  writhe  within  the  jealous  folds 
Of  Broadway's  coils! 
92 


MY  PIPE 

I  guess  I've  never  learned  to  know 
The  subtle  joys  that  come  and  go, 
And  touch  the  senses  with  a  thrill 
That  seem  our  day-dreams  to  fulfill — 
The  joys  that  float  from  a  cigar, 
In  wreaths  of  fragrant  smoke  afar. 

And  though  I've  tried,  I've  never  found 
The  comforts  that  I've  heard  abound. 
Through  paying  court  to  that  fair  queen 
Of  saffron  color,  Nicotine; 
Indeed,  I've  never  sensed  the  bliss 
Of  cigarette's  sweet- venomed  kiss. 

I've  tried,  I  own,  to  cultivate 
Affection  for  this  dual  fate; 
But  other  men  find  something  more 
Than  I  to  praise  and  to  adore; 
Perchance  my  taste  is  not  yet  "ripe," 
For  my  beloved  is  my  old  pipe. 

So  there  you  have  it!     Why  deny, 
With  drooping  eyes  and  sorrowed  sigh, 
The  love  I  bear  my  ancient  friend, 
Whose  bowl  contains  the  rarest  blend 
Of  Southland's  balmy,  sun-touched  breeze, 
And  melodies  of  bird-filled  trees? 


Whose  crusted  fount  is  redolent 
Of  romance  of  the  Orient; 
Of  trackless  seas,  and  ice-clad  lands, 
Of  rocky  shoals,  and  sanded  strands; 
Of  great  blue  eyes  that  smile  at  me, 
Through  bluer  smoke,  bewitchingly. 

To  you,  whose  fingers  bear  the  stain, 
Whose  twitching  nerves  cry  out  in  pain, 
I  dare  not  give  my  earthly  share, 
But  say  instead  an  earnest  prayer 
That  you  may  some  day  know  the  spell, 
Which  glows  within  a  briar's  well. 

BE  BIG 

Put  a  sway  in  your  words,  a   resolve  in 

your  thought, 

And  a  force  in  the  things  you  do, 
And  observe  as  you  go  that  success  easily 

bought 
Never  sounds  with  a  ring  that's  true. 

But  a  thought  that  is  big  and  a  word  that 

is  strong, 

And  a  deed  that  is  free  from  guile, 
Seem  to  grow  in  our  hearts  like  the  mem'ry 

of  song, 
And  they  bring  the  success  worth  while. 

94 


ENNUI 

I  had  folded  my  papers,  and  placed  them 

away, 

And  was  striving  to  stifle  a  yawn, 
For  the  air  bore  the  drowse  of  a  mid-summer 

day, 

With  the  scent  of  the  freshly-cut  lawn; 
When  a  knock  at  the  door  left  my  yawn  in 

my  throat, 

And  I  straightened  myself  hurriedly, 
As  I  cried  out,  "Come  in!"  in  an  impatient 

note; 

Then  I  glanced  up,  and  there  stood — 
Ennui. 

"You  are  welcome,  my  friend;  have  a  com 
fortable  seat; 

May  I  ask  what  has  prompted  your  call?" 
"It's  the  weather,"  he  said,  with  a  sniff  at 

the  heat, 

As  he  dropped  in  a  chair,  with  a  sprawl; 
"I  delight  to  go  visiting  days  such  as  these, 

For  it  seems  I  'fit  in,'  as  it  were — 
As   the  fragrance   of  clover  fits  into   the 

breeze, 

When  its  spirit  the  zephyrs  would  stir." 
95 


"You're  poetic,"  I  laughed.     "It's  inher 
ent,"  he  sighed, 
"Though  I've  wished  many  times  it  were 

not; 

It's  a  spell  that  comes  on  in  the  early  spring 
tide, 

But  it's  worse  when  the  weather  grows  hot; 
Yet  I'm  welcome,  'twould  seem,  every  place 

I  may  go, 
Though   there's   only   one  thing  that   I 

fear—" 
And  he  halted  abruptly,  and  looked  for  the 

glow 

At   the   window,   and   whispered,    "Still 
clear!" 

Well,  we  smoked,  and  we  chatted,  and  toyed 

with  the  time, 

While  the  hours  went  tripping  along, 
And  the  moments  of  lassitude,  truly  sublime, 

Were  as  music  of  narcotic  song; 
For  it  seemed  that  my  friend  cast  an  indo 
lent  spell, 

Like  a  nebulous  haze  cross  the  sun, 
And  I  found  myself  wishing,  it  grieves  me  to 

tell, 
That  its  witchery  would  never  be  done. 

96 


Yet  it's  strange,  as  we  talked,  that  I  glanced 

at  the  pad 

I  had  thrown  aside  days  before, 
With  suggestions  and  notes  so  luxuriantly 

clad; 

Then  I  heard  a  low  knock  at  the  door, 
And  I  opened  it  quickly.     "New  Interest!" 

I  cried, 

"How  devoted  to  come  such  a  day!" 
"Why,   it's  turning  quite  cool;  great  for 

work,"  he  replied; 
Then  we  both  saw  Ennui  slink  away. 

YOUR  BIRTHDAY 

I  would  garner  the  joys  of  the  years  that 

have  passed 

Into  one  Perfect  Day,  if  I  could, 
And  its  music  would  be  but  the  brook's 

laughing  lilt, 

Its  quiet  the  calm  of  the  wood; 
And  this  wonderful  day,  with  its  sunshine 

and  warmth, 

With  its  smiles  and  its  flowers,  its  cheer, 
I  would  fashion  for  you,  that  the  whole 

world  might  know 
'Tis  your  birthday,  the  sweet  o'  the  year. 

97 


A  MOCKERY 

They  always  met  at  the  factory  gate, 

When  the  toil  of  the  day  was  done, 
When  pallid  workers  would  stumble  forth, 

For  a  glimpse  of  the  dying  sun; 
And  homeward  then  they  would  slowly  go, 

With  Love  to  lead  the  way, — 
A  wizened,  gaunt,  though  a  hopeful  Love, 

Of  the  litter  of  Underpay. 

And  they  planned,  as  lovers  can  only  plan, 

For  the  day  that  their  dreams  invent, 
For  the  cosy  house,  with  the  crawling  vines, 

And  the  joy-throbbing  wonderment; 
Of  singing  birds,  and  a  wealth  of  flow'rs, 

And  each  little  longed-for  need; 
They  must  have  prayed,  as  they  strolled 
along — 

Though  the  Lord  doesn't  always  heed. 

But  He  joined  the  two  with  His  sacred  bond; 

Then  the  world  took  them  both  in  hand : 
It  looked  them  over,  from  tip  to  toe, 

And  gave  them  to  understand 


98 


That  factory-gnomes,  of  the  lathe  and  bench, 
Mustn't  hope  they  could  ever  be 

Like  other  folk,  who'd  escaped  the  pinch, 
And  the  dolor  of  poverty. 

Then  they  learned  that  dreams  are  chimer 
ical, 

For  they  found  they  could  not  afford 
The  little  house,  with  the  blinds  and  things, 

And  the  garden  and  velvet  sward; 
For  they  had  to  live  in  a  tenement, 

(Heaven  knows  there's  no  romance  therel) 
And  they  spent  their  days  within  factory 
walls, 

Their  nights  in  a  room  more  bare. 

Then  Love  grew  tired,  and  finally  died: 

There  was  nothing  to  give  it  hope, 
Nothing  of  color,  but  cheerless  drab, 

In  life's  kaleidoscope; 

And  at  last  they  traveled  their  separate 
paths, 

But  they  both  took  the  "easiest  way": 
He  to  the  gutter — she — God  knows — 

The  offspring  of  Underpay ! 


99 


HUMANITY'S  MARKET 

Give  me  a  man  who  is  not  afraid 
To  carry  a  pick,  or  a  bar,  or  spade, 
To  dig  in  a  ditch  in  the  swelt'ring  sun, 
To  stick  to  the  last,  till  the  job  is  done; 
Give  me  a  man  unafraid  of  work, 
No  matter  the  brand — who  will  never  shirk, 
A  man  who  is  deaf  to  the  call  of  pride 
And  blind  to  the  grime  of  his  hair  and  hide. 

Give  me  a  man  who  will  hold  the  road, 
Nor  swerve  from  the  path  of  the  honor  code, 
Who  fashions  his  deeds  as  his  heart  decrees, 
Who  cares  more  for  worth  than  for  pedi 
grees; 

Give  me  a  man  who  will  fight  for  right 
Against  the  chimeras  of  tinseled  might, 
Unfettered  and  free  as  a  bird  a-wing, 
Immune  from  the  venom  of  envy's  sting. 

Give  me  a  man  with  a  heart  of  gold, 
Give  me  a  man  with  a  courage  bold, 
Who  feels  not  the  smart  of  the  world's  pet 

sneer, 

Reserved  for  the  man  it  has  cause  to  fear; 
Give  me  a  man  with  a  mellowed  soul, 
Whose  unerring  goodness  will  win  the  goal, — 
Give  me  a  man  of  our  Lord's  own  kind: 
I'm  bidding  for  men — but  they're  hard  to 

find! 

100 


MINOR  CHORDS 

I  used  to  think  that  life 

Was  but  a  symphony  of  song, 
In  my  days  of  adolescence, 

Which  to  happiness  belong, 
But  I've  learned  that  though  a  symphony 

It  has  its  minor  chords 
That  are  plaintive  with  the  anguish 

Of  the  struggling  earthly  hordes. 

For  beneath  the  filmy  motif 

Runs  a  counter  melody, 
In  a  strain  that's  all  insistent 

With  a  somber  harmony: 
Just  as  though  the  Great  Composer 

Had  intended  we  should  know, 
All  the  changing  shades  of  darkness, 

As  well  as  sunlight's  glow. 

And  'twould  seem  that  life  is  brighter, 

That  its  song  is  sweeter  still, 
When  a  deep-toned  note  of  suffering 

For  the  moment  seems  to  chill, 
For  its  echo  bears  the  cadence 

Of  a  meaning  strange  and  new, 
As  it  glorifies  the  memory 

Of  the  pleasures  that  we  knew. 
101 


SEEDS  OF  LOVE 

We  can  make  of  life  a  garden  plot, 

If  we  will  only  try, 
Full  redolent  with  copious  buds, 

And  no  discordant  sigh; 
We  can  extirpate  monotony 

From  every  toilsome  day, 
If  we'll  only  drop  some  seeds  of  love 

All  along  the  way. 

We  can  give  to  work  a  meaning  new, 

Regardless  of  the  kind, 
By  adding  happiness  to  it, 

And  trying  hard  to  find 
The  latent,  palpitating  rose, 

Beneath  the  somber  gray, 
If  we'll  only  drop  some  seeds  of  love 

All  along  the  way. 

And  the  friends  we  make  will  come  to  be 

The  scintillating  gleams 
Of  many  suns,  that  give  us  warmth, 

Through  their  refulgent  beams: 
That  lead  us  forth,  like  flaming  brands, 

In  safety  through  the  fray, 
If  we'll  only  drop  some  seeds  of  love 

All  along  the  way. 

102 


So  let  us  make  this  life  of  ours 

A  garden  plot,  full  blown, 
Where  we  can  sit  among  the  blooms 

That  we  have  carefully  grown; 
And  lo,  the  earth  will  rear  itself 

In  radiant  array, 
If  we'll  only  drop  some  seeds  of  love 

All  along  the  way. 

MY  FRIEND 

I  think  of  you  ofttimes,  my  friend, 
When  sorrow's  darkest  clouds  descend 

And  drop  their  mantle  over  me; 

Ah,  then  in  my  extremity 
I  bring  my  heart  to  you  to  mend. 

'Twould  seem  you  somehow  comprehend, 
When  grief  my  inmost  soul  would  rend; 
"Pis  then  I  crave  a  word  from  thee, 

0  friend  of  mine. 

And  when  I  sip  life's  sweetest  blend, 
Of  happiness  and  joy  unkenned, 

1  think  of  you,  and  send  a  plea 
To  God  on  high — a  prayer  that  He 

May  bless  you,  guard  you  till  life's  end, 
O  friend  of  mine. 

103 


INSPIRATION 

I  often  find  myself  devoid 

Of  golden  thoughts  to  weave  in  verse, 

And  search  my  sterile  memory 

For  some  forgotten  hidden  gem — 

Some  truant  beam  that  once  had  played 

Across  the  screen. 

And  then  I  hold  the  film  itself 
Against  the  dimly-lighted  Past, 
To  pierce  the  age-dark  shadowings 
That  mock  the  ghostly  flickering 
Of  Recollection's  wavering  flame — 
But  all  in  vain. 

With  Failure's  laughter  hi  my  ears 
I  move  about  among  the  throngs 
In  aimless  wandering,  to  find 
Some  living  brand  to  shed  its  light, 
And  to  recall  an  incident 
Of  Yesterday. 

And  there,  among  the  complex  host, 
My  Inspiration  waits  for  me: 
In  thin,  pale  faces,  hung'ring  eyes, 
And  stagg'ring  steps  that  go  to  meet 
Tomorrow's  Dawn — all  pulsing  with 
Life's  Poetry. 

104 


THE  LONG,  LONG  TRIP 

When  the  big  bell  tolls  for  the  long,  long 
trip, 

And  you  pack  your  things  away: 
Your  harp  and  wings  in  your  worn  grip, 

With  your  clothes  of  angel-gray; 
When  you  say  farewell  to  the  sordid  earth, 

To  your  friends  so  stanch  and  leal, 
When  you  turn  your  back  on  your  home  and 
hearth — 

How  are  you  going  to  feel? 

Will  you  hearken  back  to  the  years  gone  by, 

With  a  feeling  of  content, 
With  the  thought  that  each  sharp  pain  and 
sigh 

That  you  gave  was  never  meant; 
Will  those  years  of  life  be  as  pearls  to  you, 

On  a  necklace  pure  as  gold, 
Will  your  heart  be  light  when  you  seek  the 
blue 

That  Tomorrow's  years  enfold? 

Will  your  step  be  firm,  will  you  wear  a  smile, 
When  the  stairway  you  ascend, 

And  take  the  road  to  the  Afterwhile, 
Which  all  lone  travelers  wend; 
105 


Will  you  feel  secure  at  the  Golden  Gate 

When  St.  Peter  asks  to  see 
The  credentials  that  will  decide  your  fate, 

And  your  residence  to  be? 

But  you  needn't  fear,  nor  you  needn't  fret, 

When  you  hear  the  tolling  bell, 
For  there'll  be  no  sound  of  a  vain  regret 

In  its  echoing  farewell, 
If  the  life  you  leave  has  been  filled  with 
deeds, 

And  if  love  was  at  your  side: 
Then  you'll  reap  the  blooms  of  your  well- 
sown  seeds 

That  your  faith  has  sanctified. 

TACT 

If  you'd  like  to  pass  a  speeding  chap, 

Or  to  reach  a  goal  afar, 
It's  a  certainty  you'll  have  to  hitch 

Your  wagon  to  a  star; 
But  another  thing  you'll  have  to  do, 

In  all  that  you  transact, 
(And  a  most  important  thing  it  is) 

Is  to  use  a  little  tact. 


106 


It's  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  taste,  the  smell, 

And  the  sense  of  touch,  in  one, 
For  its  golden  threads,  through  all  the  five, 

Are  interlaced  and  spun; 
And  it  has  a  vital  part  to  do 

With  the  forming  of  each  act, 
So  it's  well  for  everyone  to  learn 

To  use  a  little  tact. 

There  are  many  times,  I  must  admit, 

When  it's  hard  to  stop  and  think, 
But  those  are  very  dangerous  times, 

For  we're  mighty  near  the  brink; 
And  it's  then  we  have  to  bite  our  lips, 

To  swallow  and  retract: 
Oh,  you'll  find  it  often  pains  a  heap 

To  use  a  little  tact. 

But  in  truth,  it's  always  worth  your  while, 

No  matter  what  the  cause, 
Just  to  give  yourself  a  meaning  shake, 

And  to  take  a  breathing  pause; 
For  it's  putting  dollars  in  your  bank, 

While  its  good  will  retroact: 
So  I  humbly  urge  on  everyone 

To  use  a  little  tact. 


107 


TWILIGHT 

When  my  weary  day  is  over, 

And  the  scent  of  early  clover 

Strokes  the  twilight's  eerie  shadows  with  its 

gentle  perfumed  hand, 

It  is  then  my  simple  dwelling, 

With  a  love-light  all  excelling, 

Seems  to  have  a  different  meaning  in  the 

evening's  parting  strand. 

It  becomes  a  fairy  bower, 
In  this  star-lit  mystic  hour, 
A  lane  of  haunting  mem'ry  and  a  heaven, 

all  in  one, 

With  its  sweet  of  wakeful  dreaming, 
And  the  song  in  treetops  seeming 
To  be  fraught  with  all  the  wonder  of  a 
courting  just  begun. 

Then  with  love  my  arms  enfold  her, 
With  a  new-found  joy  I  hold  her, 
As  we  hearken  to  the  rhapsody  that  fills  the 

evening  air, 

For  I  know  that  no  Tomorrow 
Will  be  touched  by  poignant  sorrow, 
While  the  scent  of  early  clover  is  the  fra 
grance  of  her  hair. 
108 


THE  TRIANGLE 

We  bow  to  one  triumvirate, 

In  all  that  we  essay, 
A  potent  force  triangular, 

That  dissipates  dismay; 
And  well  we  know,  if  we  may  have 

The  trio  at  our  side, 
There's  nothing  we  shall  fear  to  do 

Throughout  the  great  world  wide. 

Our  Common  Sense  must  lead  the  three, 

For  how  can  we  succeed, 
If  we  are  rash  in  all  we  do, 

And  never  stop  to  heed; 
If,  when  a  plan  presents  itself, 

We  act  impulsively, 
Instead  of  letting  Judgment 

Be  the  final  referee? 

Then  Industry  will  follow  close, 

Its  twin,  Initiative, 
The  foe  of  every  random  thought 

That's  weak  and  negative; 
The  force  that  makes  the  world  go  round, 

And  cleaves  the  blazoned  road, 
The  force  to  which  the  god  Success 

Indites  his  favored  ode. 
109 


And  last  is  Perseverance, 

The  mill  that's  never  still, 
That  grinds  our  bullion  constantly, 

Obedient  to  the  Will; 
And  with  this  trio,  man  can  go 

Where'er  his  fancies  soar, 
The  sworn  master  of  himself — 

His  own  true  emperor. 


WE  WON'T  BE  BACK  THIS  WAY 

If  there's  any  good  that  you'd  like  to  do, 

You  had  better  do  it  now, 
And  not  defer  till  the  time's  too  late, 

As  some  folks  will,  somehow; 
You  had  better  try,  as  you  travel  on, 

To  help  the  world  along, 
With  a  kindly  thought  of  the  other  chap, 

And  a  note  of  blithesome  song. 

It's  a  dangerous  thing  to  procrastinate, 

For  the  days  go  quickly  by, 
And  we  can't  recall  what  has  passed,  you 
know, 

Though  we  sometimes  vainly  try; 


110 


So  it's  well  to  do  what  we  know  we  should, 

When  the  spirit  tells  us  to, 
Lest  we  meet  the  specter  of  "should  have 
done," 

Ere  we  bid  the  world  adieu. 

For  there's  not  a  thing  that  will  pain  as 
much 

As  a  kindness  left  undone, 
Nor  a  cheerful  word  that  was  left  unsaid 

When  a  cloud-bank  veiled  the  sun; 
For  a  deep  remorse  leaves  a  deeper  wound, 

And  a  turgid,  throbbing  scar, 
That  we  can't  efface  from  our  memory, 

Though  we  journey  long  and  far. 

But  the  path  of  life  is  a  flowered  trail 

To  the  soul  that  tries  to  aid, 
And  it  finds  new  courage  to  face  the  world 

With  a  spirit  unafraid; 
It's  a  debt  we  owe  to  our  kith  and  kin, 

A  debt  we  should  defray: 
So  let's  be  kind,  as  we  travel  on, 

For  we  won't  be  back  this  way. 


ill 


A  ROSE  TO  THE  LIVING 

If  I  could  but  touch  the  hearts  of  men 

Who  have  grown  stern  and  cold, 
There's  just  one  thing  I  should  ask  of  them — 

To  make  their  hearts  unfold; 
And  'twould  bring  a  joy  to  the  soul  of  me 

Before  my  life  should  close, 
If  they'd  grave  these  words  on  their  mem 
ories: 

Don't  withhold  the  rose. 

But  it  seems  the  world  has  a  heavy  pride 

That  keeps  it  close  to  earth, 
That  holds  its  interest  in  just  itself, 

And  dims  another's  worth; 
It  seems  to  be  such  a  jealous  world, 

Of  imperious,  haughty  pose, 
That  I  scarcely  dare  to  implore  of  it : 

Don't  withhold  the  rose. 

Not  every  one  can  be  big  and  strong, 
Nor  excel  in  the  world's  great  work, 

But  most  of  us  do  the  best  we  can, 
And  few  of  us  try  to  shirk, 


112 


While  the  least  of  us  need  a  kindly  word, 

And  all  of  us,  heaven  knows, 
Should  heed  the  Voice,  ere  it  be  too  late: 

Don't  withhold  the  rose. 

Melt  your  heart  with  the  rays  of  love: 

We're  all  of  the  Master's  flock, 
And  whether  of  wealth  we've  more  or  less 

Deserves  no  praise  or  mock; 
Give  your  hand  when  the  need  is  felt, 

And  let  your  arms  enclose 
The  timid  form  whose  lips  would  plead: 

Don't  withhold  the  rose. 


MY  WELL 

I  haven't  any  sylvan  well, 

With  sparkling  water  deep, 
Through  which  the  sun 's  transmuted  shafts 

Like  arrows  seem  to  leap; 
Nor  any  bucket,  mossy  crowned, 

And  rich  with  poet's  lore, 
To  cast  itself,  in  sportiveness, 

Upon  the  pebbled  floor. 


113 


For  these  are  not  indigenous 

To  prosy  city  life, 
Especially  in  apartment  caves, 

Where  modern  things  are  rife; 
And  yet  I  have  a  substitute, 

For  well,  and  bucket,  too, 
Which,  though  bereft  of  rural  charm, 

Has  proved  a  comrade  true. 

In  winter  time,  in  summer  time, 

It  serves  me  faithfully, 
With  persevering  diligence, 

And  friendly  constancy; 
It  is  just  a  thermos  bottle, 

But  of  all  the  wells  that  well 
I'd  choose  it  from  among  the  host, 

In  virgin  vale  or  dell. 

For  when  I  wake  from  fevered  sleep, 

It's  resting  at  my  side, 
A  cooling  fount  of  water  clear, 

To  willingly  provide; 
And  though  the  well  may  have  a  few 

Traditions,  more  or  less, 
I'd  rather  have  my  vacuum  flask 

Instead,  I  must  confess. 


114 


HIS  BIRTHDAY 

How  sort  o'  wealthy-like  and  proud 

A  fellow  feels,  and  how 
The  lines  of  worriment  and  care 

Drop  lightly  from  his  brow; 
How  bygone  years  pack  up  their  duds, 

And  slyly  steal  away, 
Leaving  him  a  boy  again 

To  celebrate  his  day — 
J'ever  notice? 

And  what  surprise  he  simulates, 

What  pleasure  paramount, 
When  he  receives  the  family  gifts, 

(All  charged  to  his  account); 
And  how  he  pouts,  if  they  forget 

To  give  some  little  thing, 
On  this,  the  only  day  of  all, 

That  father  is  the  king. 
J'ever  notice? 

And  how  he  mentions  casually 

To  everyone  he  meets 
This  day  of  days,  and  buys  cigars 

For  every  chum  he  greets; 

115 


And  how  they  always  humor  him 

By  vowing  he's  as  spry 
As  any  youngster  twenty-one — 

And  how  be  loves  the  lie! 
J'ever  notice? 

But  if  you  tell  a  tiny  fib 

In  making  someone  glad, 
I  rather  think  that  Gabriel 

Will  scratch  it  from  his  pad; 
For  cheery  words  that  thrill  with  joy, 

No  matter  what  they  be, 
Will  ease  our  road — and  help  us  all 

To  grow  old  gracefully. 
J'ever  notice? 

THE  GRUMBLERS 

Some  men  are  always  grumbling 

Because  they  don't  succeed; 
They're  charter  members,  every  one, 

Of  that  great  cult  and  creed 
That  has  no  keen  initiative 

Nor  cares  to  forge  ahead, 
But  likes  to  sit  and  thunder  growls, 

And  scratch  its  ivory  head. 


116 


They  work  by  rote  and  office  clock, 

And  do  the  things  they  must, 
But  if  they're  asked  for  something  more, 

They  think  it  most  unjust; 
They  have  a  sort  of  primal  hate 

For  members  of  the  firm, 
Though  when  they  meet  them  face  to  face, 

They  bow,  and  scrape,  and  squirm. 

They  always  form  in  little  cliques, 

And  seem  to  stand  apart, 
Instead  of  joining  buoyantly, 

With  willing,  hopeful  heart, 
In  all  that  their  employers  do 

To  help  the  business  on, 
Their  int'rest  is  tubercular, 

Their  efforts  weak  and  wan. 

And  then  they  wonder  why  they  fail, 

While  others  win  the  day; 
But  if  they'd  study  those  who  win, 

They'd  quickly  sense  the  way; 
They'd  find  it's  just  by  working  hard, 

And  looking  round  for  more, 
That  little  men  grow  into  big, 

And  pass  through  Fortune's  door. 


117 


ADVICE 

When  I  was  but  a  little  boy, 

My  grandad  used  to  say: 
"Learn  something  that  is  useful,  lad, 

Each  hour  of  the  day; 
And  when  your  head  is  filled,  you'll  find, 

It's  quite  a  simple  plan, 
To  fill  your  empty  pocketbook, 

When  you  become  a  man." 

But  Youth  is  proud  Experiment, 

And  Age,  Experience: 
It's  strange,  they're  always  alien — 

A  queer  coincidence! 
And  so  I  failed  to  heed  his  words, 

As  boys  are  wont  to  do; 
For  I  was  young,  and  he  was  old, 

And  life  was  rosy-hue. 

My  little  seat-mate,  Billy  Elm, 

Sure  loved  his  thumb-marked  books: 
He'd  study  them  with  earnest  mien, 

And  I,  my  fishing  hooks; 
But  when  our  graduation  came, 

He  led  the  honor  roll, 
While  I  disported  in  the  shade 

Of  Huckin's  swimming  hole. 
118 


But  grandad  knew  the  way  of  life, 

I've  learned  since  years  have  flown: 
He  knew  that  youthful  study  forms 

Success's  corner-stone; 
For  now,  at  forty,  I'm  a  clerk 

In  Elm's  Department  Store, 
While  Billy's  worth  a  million,  yes, 

And  "Bradstreet"  says  heaps  more! 

MY  PIANO 

There's  an  hour  every  evening, 

When  heaven  seems  quite  near, 
When  the  air  is  sweetly  vocal, 

And  when  worries  disappear: 
It  is  just  as  twilight  changes 

To  the  majesty  of  night, 
While  I  sit  at  my  piano 

In  the  graying  evening  light. 

Then  the  masters  stand  beside  me 

And  my  fingers  seem  to  guide 
To  the  haunts  of  lovely  melody 

Where  fairy  sprites  reside; 
And  I  scent  the  dewy  fragrance 

Of  a  flowered  dale  or  glen, 
Softly  hidden  in  the  vistas, 

Far  removed  from  sight  of  men. 

119 


There  with  Rubinstein  and  Mozart, 

And  with  Verdi's  shade  I  roam, 
With  Rossini,  Donizetti, 

In  the  ever-deep 'ning  gloam : 
And  I  seem  to  know  the  passion 

Of  the  great  Beethoven's  art, 
And  to  analyze  the  meaning 

Of  the  world's  pulsating  heart. 

I  am  lost  in  all  the  grandeur 

Of  their  changing  harmonies, 
In  the  throb  of  mighty  oceans, 

In  the  song  of  wind-swept  trees: 
In  the  ecstasy  of  l,overs, 

And  the  agony  of  souls, 
In  the  beating  of  the  waters 

On  a  lifetime's  rocky  shoals. 

And  I  learn  life's  truest  lesson 

In  the  moments  quickly  gone: 
Thus  I  know  that  life  is  sweetest 

When  the  heart  is  filled  with  song, 
For  my  own  is  strangely  happy 

In  the  moonlight's  golden  cheer, 
While  I  sit  at  my  piano 

With  the  Master  very  near. 

120 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

A  little  bit  of  sunshine 19 

A  little  dog's  tail  is  a  wonderful  thing 54 

A  little  smile  once  in  a  while 59 

A  man  with  a  frown  and  a  man  with  a  smile 26 

A  thought  that  is  winged  from  a  friend  to  a  friend  52 

An  American  never  starts  a  thing 68 

Be  careful  of  moods;  they  are  dang'rous  things.. .  .  49 

Before  you  send  your  letter,  read  it  over 23 

Be  loyal  to  the  thoughts  that  your  heart  holds  dear  70 

Be  not  impulsive,  think  as  you  go 83 

Bill  was  the  clerk  in  the  general  store 38 

Do  something  good  each  passing  day 15 

Dreamers  are  needed  to  pierce  the  tomorrow 71 

Every  breath  of  the  wind  that  blows 75 

Every  day  has  its  quota  of  smiles 72 

Give  me  a  man  who  is  not  afraid 100 

Give  me  your  hand  when  I  need  it  most 53 

God  took  the  fragrance  of  myriad  flowers 78 

Happiness  is  yours  to  take 31 

He  carried  a  book  every  place  that  he  went 42 

He  made  his  prayer  to  a  dollar  bill 63 

He's  a  little  dog  with  a  stubby  tail 9 

Hey,  there,  fellows,  come  on  in 51 

How  sort  o'  wealthy-like  and  proud 115 

Hush-a-baby,  close  yo'  eyes 47 

I  don't  know  what  I'm  goin'  t'  be 86 

I  dreamed  a  dream  in  the  twilight  hours 84 

I  guess  I've  never  learned  to  know 93 

I  had  folded  my  papers  and  put  them  away 95 

121 


I  haven't  any  sylvan  well 113 

I  heard  a  voice 49 

I  love  the  melody  of  rain 24 

I  often  find  myself  devoid 104 

I  say,  pard!  What's  th'  use  o'  worryin'? 72 

I  think  of  you  of ttimes,  my  friend 103 

I  used  to  live  in  a  great  big  house  of  seventeen 

rooms  or  more 36 

I  used  to  *hmlr  that  life 101 

I  very  often  wonder 65 

I  would  garner  the  joys  of  the  years  that  have 

passed 97 

If  each  loved  heart  were  lost  to  me  on  earth ....  50 

If  I  could  but  touch  the  hearts  of  men 112 

If  there's  any  good  that  you'd  like  to  do 110 

If  you'd  like  to  pass  a  speeding  chap 106 

If  you  meet  the  world  with  a  heart  that's  light  . .  27 

In  quiv'ring  length,  its  seething  coils 92 

In  the  clear  summer  air 73 

Isn't  it  funny  how  love  comes  along 14 

It  matters  not  what  your  work  may  be 55 

It  takes  but  a  minute  to  say  good-bye 64 

It  waves  for  you  and  it  waves  for  me 87 

It's  a  mighty  good  thing,  while  you're  running 

life's  race 80 

It's  a  shame  to  be  ill  and  confined  to  your  bed —  16 

It's  strange  that  the  songs  that  we  hear  today 22 

I've  a  little  room  where  I  live  alone 31 

I've  always  known  that  friends  are  sent 67 

I've  got  th'  finest  uncle 28 

"Let's  go  a-fishin',  Mary" 46 

122 


PAGE 

Mary  MacGuire,  begorry,  yer  sire 82 

"Mother,  may  I  get  in  the  swim?" 13 

Never  ask  yourself  the  question:  "Is  my  effort 

worth  the  while" 64 

No  day  so  quickly  passes 17 

Oh,  it's  great  to  be  able  to  go  where  you  will ....  18 

One  summer  night,  while  I  wandered  alone 25 

Pat  McDooin  was  a  sailor  whin  he  met  swate  Nora 

Naylor 66 

Put  a  sway  in  your  words,  a  resolve  in  your  thought  94 

Sez  Paddy  Flynn  t'  me  lasht  noight 59 

She  had  a  pinkish  bonnet,  with  a  bunch  o'  flowers 

on  it 62 

She  isn't  a  car  with  a  pedigree 11 

Sighs  and  frowns  are  not  for  you 63 

Some  folks'll  al'ays  git  along 10 

Some  men  are  always  grumbling 116 

Sometime  I  git  in  a  thoughtful  mood 44 

Start  the  year  with  a  word  of  cheer 30 

Th'  goin's  hard  when  you're  down  an'  out 34 

That's  what  I  always  want  you  to  be 35 

The  church  folk  sneer  at  the  chorus  girl 58 

The  world  hasn't  time  for  the  gelatine-spined 33 

The  world  is  a  bitter,  noxious  place 79 

The  world  is  a  finer,  better  place 69 

The  world  takes  a  man  at  his  own  valuation 55 

There  is  something  fine  in  the  world  for  you 48 

There's  a  heap  o'  satisfaction  in  the  clasp  of  some 

friend's  hand 17 

There's  a  place  for  you  in  the  world,  my  lad 37 

There's  a  vicious  bit  of  scandal 76 

There's  an  hour  every  evening 119 

123 


PAGE 

There's  naught  upon  Tomorrow's  page 57 

They  always  met  at  the  factory  gate 98 

They  say  that  life's  a  funny  proposition,  after  all  79 

Think  of  Tomorrow,  not  of  Today 89 

This  criticized  world  is  a  pretty  good  place 32 

Turn  your  face  to  the  Eastward,  and  look  to  the 

rising  sun 56 

'Twas  God  Who  took  from  heaven's  dome 57 

Two  starry  eyes  look  into  mine 33 

Velvet  shadows  come  and  go 85 

Very  often  when  you  think  a  thought,  you  haven't 

thunk  a  thing 50 

We  bow  to  one  triumvirate 109 

We  can  make  of  life  a  garden  plot 102 

We're  all  of  us  children  grown  up 62 

What  if  you  fail  in  the  task  at  hand? 71 

What  kindred  interest  we  sense 91 

When  a  fellow   thinks  continually   of  a  certain 

charming  girl 60 

When  I  was  but  a  little  boy 118 

When  my  weary  day  is  over 108 

When  the  big  bell  tolls  for  the  long,  long  trip.  .  .  .  105 
When  the  line  of  your  horizon  has  a  gloomy  sort 

o'  look 74 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid?" 13 

When  war  was  new,  we  used  to  stand 90 

Whenever  I  am  weary 88 

WTiin  ye're  needin'  a  shmile  or  a  wee  bit  o'  blarney  77 

Will  to  live  the  life  of  a  man 78 

Work  while  you  work,  with  all  your  heart 24 

You'll  find  the  marines  where'er  you  go 20 

You  can  capture  the  world  with  a  smile 73 

124 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

PAGE 

Accordingly 89 

Advice 118 

"Argued  by  the  Workin'  Man" 59 

Autumn 85 

Baby 33 

Be  a  Man 80 

Be  Big 94 

Be  Loyal  to  Your  Thoughts 70 

Be  Not  Impulsive 83 

Betsy 11 

Better'n  None 62 

Birth  of  Old  Glory,  The 57 

Bit  o'  Heaven,  A 1.9 

Blarney 77 

Bright  Things  of  Life,  The 52 

Bum 9 

Commencement  Day 13 

Cost,  The 63 

Dreaming. 84 

Dreams 48 

Each  Plays  a  Part 71 

Encouragement 17 

Ennui 95 

Every  Day 72 

Everyone  Does  It 36 

Failure 71 

Fight  On! 64 

"Fishin"' 46 

Friend  o'  Mine .  .  7 


125 


PAGE 

Friends 78 

Friendship's  Memory 64 

Girl  Who's  Misunderstood,  The 58 

Glory  of  Failure,  The 50 

Go  t'  Sleep,  Honey 47 

Coin's  Hard,  Th' 84 

Grumblers,  The 116 

Happiness 31 

His  Birthday 115 

How  to  Live 53 

Humanity's  Market 100 

I  Wonder  If  It's  Love 60 

If 27 

In  Memory 75 

Inspiration 104 

It's  a  Good  Old  World 32 

Just  a  Minute,  Please 23 

Just  Dad 35 

Lady  Fair 73 

Learn  to  Smile  by  the  Way 26 

Leveler,  The 91 

Life's  Boomerang 15 

Life's  Room 31 

Long,  Long  Trip 105 

Man's  Creed 56 

Mary  Darlint 82 

Me  an'  Jim 44 

Minor  Chords 101 

Mockery,  A 98 

Moods 49 

More  Ways  Than  One 66 

126 


PAGE 

Mother 69 

My  Friend 103 

My  Piano 119 

My  Pipe 93 

My  Star 25 

My  Well 113 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The 38 

Niche,  The 37 

Olden  Melodies 22 

Our  Flag 87 

Patriotism 90 

Persuasion 51 

Plan  Today 57 

Plans 86 

Positive — Negative 33 

Prayer,  A 17 

Rain 24 

Reason,  The 10 

Rose  to  the  Living,  A 112 

Scandal 76 

Seeds  of  Love .102 

Serpent,  The 92 

Smile 73 

Smile  Your  Way 63 

Soul  of  a  Friend,  The 59 

Strength  of  Youth,  The 49 

Sun-Crested  Hill,  The 18 

Tact 106 

Tail  of  a  Dog,  The 54 

That's  Why  He's  an  American 68 

There's  an  Awful  Lot  o'  Happiness  Around 74 

127 


PAGE 

Thy  Messenger — A  Friend 67 

Thunk,  A 50 

To  the  Convalescent 16 

Trail,  The 65 

Tramp  Philosophy 72 

Triangle,  The 109 

Try 55 

Twilight 108 

Uncle 28 

U.  S.  Marines,  The 20 

Vaulting  Sunbeams 42 

Way  It's  Done,  The 13 

We  Won't  Be  Back  This  Way 110 

When  I  am  Weary 88 

When  Love  Comes  Along 14 

Whose  Fault? 79 

Will 78 

Work  and  Play 24 

Worth  Trying 79 

Year  of  Years,  The 30 

Your  Birthday 97 

Your  Worth 55 

Youth  of  Tomorrow,  The..                  62 


128 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


1961 


Form  L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444 


001  247  923    4 


PS 


